Watercolors of the Past
by someone5
Summary: Lit, post 6.08. Dipping his head lower, he whispered to her in what she now knew to be his most secretive voice, husky and heavy and choked and always a little insecure. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
1. you take what you want

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

**_notes:_ **This was loosely inspired by the song Watercolors by Janis Ian. And just know that I **loathe** the term 'making love.' Bleck. But I'm afraid it was the only thing that worked here. ;)

Ubber mucho ginormous thanks to **Kat**! She does it all, folks. She betas my craptacular fics, she assists me with my PSP inabilities, she puts up with my craziness. :D And for everyone at 'The Thread' (you know who you are!) for continuously feeding my Lit addiction.

_**chapter.one:** _You Take What You Want

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He looked over at her, hair splayed out over the pillow like a million spider's legs, creeping up and over the soft slope of the fabric. Her flushed skin acted as a striking contrast to the still-pristine sheets, the only evidence of their indiscretion being their exposed bodies betraying purity of white cotton. Her freckles looked darker against her pink skin, her breath just now slowing to a normal rhythm.

_What is normal? Certainly not this._

_This_ had happened three times in the past two hours, how and why still unknown to him.

He had returned to the Gilmore mansion for the third time on impulse. He realized that he hadn't given her the addresses of the bookstores that were housing his 'short novel'. A piss-poor excuse, he knew, but he didn't want to leave things with her as they were. He needed to make sure that they were okay. Well, okay as two doomed not-quite lovers could be.

Okay-_ish_.

When he pushed his way through the heavy metal gates, an almost guilty look on his face for the second time, he was surprised to see a light on in the pool house. He was even more surprised to see her form hunched over the poolside, heels dangling precariously above the water. The light of the pool illuminated her face in a most ethereal glow, accenting the tears brimming in her eyes. He sat down next to her silently; close, but not too close. (Not close enough).

Close-_ish_.

"Hi," her voice cracked softly, her eyes refusing to meet his.

"You sound surprised to see me. Again."

"Pleasantly surprised."

"I just realized that I..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind. It's kind of stupid."

She shifted next to him, doing her best to discretely wipe away the tracks of her tears as they rolled along the contours of her cheekbones. She offered him a small smile, a sincere smile. A sad smile.

He resisted the urge to touch her arm, to take her hand. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. Just rethinking my entire life." She tried her best to sound strong, sarcastic, unnerved.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shake things up like that-"

"No, no," she cut him off. "I should be thanking you. I needed a reality check."

"Look, I don't know the whole story, and-"

"No, you were right. This isn't me. I don't know what I'm doing. I just don't...I don't," she flailed her arms, giving up, as a new batch of tears formed behind her eyes.

"Hey. This," he said, gesturing to the looming edifice before them, "This is all fixable."

She shot him a sideways glance, "You think so? 'Cause I'm thinking I'm in too deep."

He shook his head, "No such thing. Not for Rory Gilmore."

"You give me too much credit. I'm not that person anymore."

"Why not?"

"I'm just...not. People change. They grow and...they change."

"Not you."

His comment made her feel flustered. She couldn't remember the last time somone spoke to her so sincerely.

"Yeah, well, I did," she groaned, frustrated. She sighed angrily, and stood quickly, coming too close to doing a swan dive into the pool. Balancing herself in her black Mary Jane's, she caught him looking up at her, an amused look in his eyes. Huffing in a very non-lady-like way, she turned on her heel and stormed (rather wobbly) into the pool house.

Jess raked his left hand through his dark hair, taking a moment to scratch his head. Weighing his options momentarily, he jumped up to follow her.

When she told him the pool house had been turned into storage, she wasn't joking. In fact, she toned down the definition. The place looked like a mausoleum, packed wall to wall with artifacts that no one would ever need.

Dodging a set of ceramic yard swans and an antique-y looking loom, he caught sight of her brown jacket in the kitchenette area.

"Marco?" he offered uncertainly.

He heard a sharp intake of breath, then a quiet, "Polo."

Maneuvering around a rack of old clothes, they were able to make eye contact, and she gave him a small smile.

"Sorry. I'm just...out of sorts tonight."

"S'okay. Can I ask?" he gestured to the gold sequined top before him.

"Those are all of my grandpa's old quartet group uniform...things. Shirts. Outfits? Performance attire? I don't know what they're supposed to be called," she laughed, taking in their absurdity. He chuckled too.

She had missed his laugh.

"So," he began, "I just wanted to make sure that we were okay. That's why I stopped back by here."

"We're okay, Jess. It was really great to see you."

"Well, I'm glad you think so. I was expecting a brush off, at the very least." He took a few steps closer, resting his elbows on the counter.

"You showed up at a good time."

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Really?"

"Yeah," she paused before continuing. "I've been missing people lately. My closest friends are fifty-something society wives who incessantly bitch about husband number three and speculate as to when Tori Albinson will begin an affair with her yoga instructor."

"Sounds brutal."

"It's lonely."

Jess reached out to touch her arm reassuringly. "Hey, but it's all temporary, right?"

Rory nodded, uncertainty written across her face. "Right."

He was about to leave. He really was. The next thing he knew, they were kissing. Did he start it? Did she? He didn't know, he couldn't think, he couldn't breath. She was fucking intoxicating, hitting him in a tidal wave, a rush of lust pulsating through his body. Her lips were everywhere, her hands were _everywhere_, all before he could comprehend the situation. By the time he really started reacting, his shirt was halfway off, her coat discarded on the floor.

They stumbled awkwardly through the jungle of discarded ruins, paving their way to the back of the house. His hands burned trails up to her breasts, sending thunder bolts down her spine. She'd never been touched like this before. (She'd never be touched like this again. Not by anyone but him).

The bedroom was just as overstuffed as the living room, but neither could be bothered to tear their lips away in order to navigate past the door. Instead, they tumbled aimlessly, hitting tables, knocking over lamps, a trial-and-error approach to finding the bed. Luckily, it was storage free.

She definitely took it as a good omen.

All he could see were hands, lips, legs, hair, her long chestnut-turned-auburn locks. The next thing he knew, he was inside of her, pummeling into her over and over.

The first time was fast, needy, longing, four years overdue. After that, once the desperation had passed, they took their time. Slowly, lazily making love on the crisp white sheets till they nearly passed out, exhaustion sweeping over both of them.

She was on the brink of sleep now; he couldn't get her voice out of his head. His name tumbling off her lips over and over again, reverberating through his psyche, a broken record, the sweetest song.

It scared the shit out of him.

She was laying on her stomach with her head turned towards him. The sheets were pooled around the small of her back, and the streetlights reflected off the tiny beads of sweat lining her spine. They weren't touching now, but he could still feel her. He could see the steady rise and fall of her shoulder blades with every breath she took.

He didn't notice when her eyes opened.

She examined him through heavy lashes. "Hi," she cooed.

She looked like a photograph, laying there next to him. A watercolor painting.

"Hi." His voice was hoarse.

She sighed contently, "I can't feel my legs."

He did his best to suppress a smile, but failed miserably. "Well, you're welcome. It's nice to know my services were appreciated."

"Oh, yeah?"

He nodded, "We care enough to send the _very_ best."

She grinned before burying her face in the pillow, embarrassed. He watched in amazement as her childhood innocence returned.

He had noticed the change in her immediately, the second he walked down the driveway earlier that night. This was not the Rory Gilmore he had known. This was not the shy, naive virgin of small town Stars Hollow. She had since seen the world twice over. She had since been touched by other men. (And had touched them).

But that person, thought lost, appeared before him.

She became that girl again. Just for a moment.

Giggling nervously, she looked back at him.

Her face fell.

"I have a boyfriend," she realized softly.

"I met him."

"This was wrong."

"Yeah." He began to sit up. "Sorry."

"This was wrong because I don't regret it." He stopped mid-motion as she continued, "I cheated on my boyfriend and I don't even care. God, what's wrong with me?"

He didn't answer. He didn't know how to. Instead, he laid back down, feeling any and all energy he may have had to hold him up vanish.

"Why did you come here, Jess?" Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, as if they still had to hide from outside forces. As if they still weren't safe, not even here.

"To tell you that I-"

"A phone call would've worked," she cut him off. "A letter. Post card."

"A nice fruit basket?" he offered.

"Or smoke signal," she finished.

"I just...I guess part of me wanted to see you. Not that I expected to see _all_ of you," he added, smirking.

She smiled along with him for a moment before asking:

"Are you still in love with me?"

The bluntness of her question shocked him. She threw it out there easily, making it sound almost meaningless. Making it sound like the answer wasn't going to change the rest of their lives. Then again, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe he'd lose her either way.

Maybe none of it mattered.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

She bit her lip in apprehension. "Were you ever?" she tried.

"Yes." The single syllable flew out effortlessly, before he could even think about saying it, before he could weigh the consequences.

"So, you meant it. Last time, when you told me-"

"Of course I did."

She paused, her eyebrows knitting together in deep introspection. "I thought so."

"Did you, now?"

They held eye contact, him waiting for her next question, her trying to decide how far she wanted to take things. Trying to decide if she could handle where they were going.

(She noticed he had beautiful eyes. She made a mental note to tell him that.)

"I still loved you. For a long time," she decided to tell him. He didn't look shocked, or surprised. Just sad that she used the past tense.

"What about now?"

"I told Logan that I loved him." She said it as a statement, but not one of finality. Instead, leaving it open ended. Simply to keep him up to date as to where things stood.

"Did you mean it?" He brought his arm up underneath his head, propping himself up.

(She noticed he had a tattoo on his bicep. She made a mental note to tell him that it was sexy.)

"I thought I did. Now, I'm not sure," she gestured to the two of them, "Obviously."

His hand found its way to the sharp point of her hip bone, tracing a trail down to her belly button. "So, now what?"

"Hmph. Too many questions. Not enough sleep."

"I'm serious, Rory."

Her head lulled to the side, smiling at him. "We could do it again."

"Tempting."

She rolled back over onto her stomach, his hand following the curvature to her back, gentling gliding up to the apex of her shoulders, pulling her close. She sighed, burying her face in the pillows. "Can't we just talk about it in the morning?"

He didn't attempt to mask his surprise. "You want me to stay?"

Looking away, slightly embarrassed, she pushed a curl off of her face. "It _is_ kind of late for you to be driving and all."

"Well, do you want me to go sleep on the couch? Or the floor," he offered.

She shook her head, still grinning. "After what we just did? The worst has already happened."

"Good point."

Rory scooted closer to him, settling into the soft goose-down. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, and had he not been mere centimeters from her, he wouldn't have been able to hear. "This feels right, Jess. For the first time in a long time, _I_ feel right."

He leaned into her, pressing his lips against her forehead. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know yet."

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in months, she slept soundly.

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**_notes:_** Eeeh. Hope you liked. I'm still not sure. This was gonna be a one-shot, but I got to writing it, and now it's looking like it's gonna be at least three chapters. If you want to see more of it, that is. Please leave me your thoughts. Thanks for reading.


	2. you get what you need

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

**_notes:_** Holy god. I never expected such a response to this (21 reviews in 24 hours! _42_ total!). I was floored. I'm so glad you all seem to like this. So, as requested, chapter 2. :)

For **Lauren**, 'cause she threatened me; for **Justin**, 'cause I've never gotten a review like that before; for **Marissa** and **Fizzy** 'cause you have no idea how much I admire you; and for **Reese**, **Kat**, **Åsa, Sandi, Bex, Meg, Lina, Hadar, Sam, Marie **and **Selina** (licks) for being such great friends and leaving me such wonderful reviews!

This is a wee bit fluffy. But not nauseatingly so. I hope. ;)

**_chapter.two: _**You Get What You Need

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Jess woke slowly that morning, visions of the night before coming to him in waves. Only bits and pieces at first, glimpses of skin, of sighs, of sleep. Looking over at her (_her_, the last puzzle piece), the memories settled, creating a coherent picture show, one he could easily relive.

One he didn't know how to handle.

Should he leave quietly, making it easy for her to forget and move on with her life?

(He didn't want her to feel abandoned.)

Should he stay, waking her softly by placing gentle butterfly kisses on her eyelids?

(He didn't want her to feel regretful.)

Last night, she seemed content. Content with the two of them. But that could have easily been the sex talking. Or her need for sleep.

How to Gauge Rory Gilmore 101? He had never been very good at that.

Luckily, she stirred, taking the decision out of his hands. Her eyes opened lazily at first, growing wide once he came into focus.

The safe cloak of night had lifted; their indiscretion suddenly became very real.

Deep breath. Prepare for the onslaught.

"Hi," she offered, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Hi."

"You're still here," she ventured, making no attempt to mask the confusion in her voice.

_Shit._

"You sound surprised," he stuttered. Was he not suppose to be? Had he misunderstood her?

_Shit._

"Well," she began, grinning, "I'm _pleasantly_ surprised."

Jess was skeptical. "Are you really?"

She became somber, but her tone still held sincerity, "I want to be."

He got up abruptly, raking his hands through his hair. She watched him intently as he stood, studying the movements of his body as he looked around for his boxers. Catching sight of them draped over a lamp, he quickly retrieved them. In any other given situation, the display would have made him smirk as the events that had led to their removal replayed in his mind. But the crushing weight in his chest prevented any fond recollections.

Rory sat up, pulling the sheet close to her body, suddenly feeling even more exposed (especially since he was now covered). She didn't know whether to smile or cringe at the panicked expression on his face as he searched for the rest of his clothing. Frantic. That's what he was. _Frantic_. And she had no idea why.

"Jess-"

"Look," he turned to face her, "I get it."

"Get what?"

"I understand if you want to just...forget about this."

"_Forget_..."

"I mean, I don't want to screw anything up. This doesn't have to screw anything up," he stumbled. "You were always too good for Stars Hollow, and you were always too good for me. Now, you've got your fancy dinners, and your rich boyfriend. It...it looks like things are the way they're supposed to be."

"No. No, _nothing_ is the way it's supposed to be," she reasoned, "I'm not at school. I haven't talked to my mom in months. I'm living with my grandparents."

She was losing him. She could feel it and it made _her_ frantic. Not again, not after all this time. He was doing so good, and _they_ were so good.

"I miss you," she continued, her voice cracking, "And I'm pretty sure I'm not suppose to miss you."

That made his head shoot up and he instinctively took a step towards her shaking form. She was crying again, and it was all his fault. She looked so pale and frail and _small_ against those white sheets. The starkness of their color made her look washed out and fragile. Too fragile. Taking a shaky breath, she tried again:

"This isn't exactly something I can just _forget_."

Tossing his shirt down on the bed, he sat next to her. Stray hairs were caught in the tears on her face, but she was shaking so badly that she couldn't push them away. He scooted closer, brushing the strands away for her before wiping away the tears themselves with the pads of his thumbs.

"I don't wanna forget," she mumbled softly.

He kissed her then, as delicately as he knew how. Pulling away from her lips, he began an assault on her neck, eliciting a soft moan. In moments, she had pulled him down on top of her as he nestled himself between her legs.

(His movements were thoughtful, precise; hers were always tantalizing, even a little shy.)

An hour or so later, they were both fully dressed; she was making coffee in the kitchenette, he was gathering the rest of his belongings. It was mid-morning now, and she had a Russian Tea to host. He had some more bookstores to hit before moving north to Maine.

He exited her room, shooting her a sly glance. She smiled, silently offering him a cup of coffee by raising her mug. Jess shook his head and shoved his hands in his pockets, searching for some way to start a goodbye.

"I should take care of some things," she began, " I need to take care of some things. Today."

He nodded. "Okay. I left my cell number on the counter, so..." Trailing off, he fought his instinct to look away, instead holding eye contact as she nodded.

"I'll call you."

"Good." He took a few steps towards the door, pausing only when his hand was on the handle. "Hey, Rory?"

She was already facing him, as she had been watching him leave. "Yeah?"

"I still..." His voice failed him yet again, and he stood before her more exposed than she'd ever seen him. She smiled, knowing what he was trying to say, in a gesture that surprised him.

"Yeah, well, turns out I'm not over you myself, so..."

"So," he said.

"Drive safely."

"Drive safely?" he questioned.

Flustered, she replied, "If there's an appropriate send off for this particular situation, I don't know what it is. So, yes, I have chosen to bid you farewell using the comfortable, yet personal 'drive safely.'"

He was full on grinning now. "How's that personal?"

"Well, I care whether or not you're alive. I want you to drive safely so that when I call you, there's someone to actually answer the phone," she finished triumphantly.

"Oh," his smirk grew, "Thanks, then. And I will."

Sending her one last appreciative glance, he skillfully crept out of the pool house, the soft click of the door closing signaling his exit. Rory turned away from the door, setting her coffee cup down on the marble counter top. Sighing, her hands moved up to her face, then down to her sides, revealing the widest, most elated smile ever to grace her features.

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**_notes:_** So, this was not how the chapter was suppose to go _at all_! lol. It kinda took on a life of its own. Looks like it's gonna be 4 to 5 installments now. If _you_ want. PLEASE REVIEW if you would like to see more. :) Thanks for taking the time to read.


	3. you ask much of me

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

**_notes:_** I love reviews, I love reviews, I love reviews hey hey hey hey! lolz. Thank you so much for your fantabulous comments! You guys are too nice to me. :) I hope you like this next installment!

**_chapter.three: _**you ask much of me

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He had been in her bed. Just two short hours ago, Jess had been in her bed. With her.

He was gone now, the only remnant of him being the thin novella laying in her hands. _Written by Jess Mariano_. She ran her slender fingers over the white words; nondescript lettering, clear-cut format. Simple. It could be anyone's name written there.

But it wasn't. And really, it couldn't be. Those letters, _those _letters making up _his_ name were the only ones that would make sense on the plain black cover of the small black book.

The sheets were cold. The bed wasn't made, the covers still mussed, but the sheets had lost their warmth. His warmth.

She ran her hand across the smooth white surface of the pillow. Just to check.

It was like he hadn't laid there. _Right there_.

She had never felt more empty than she did at that moment. At that realization.

He was finally ready. For this, for them. The question now lay on her:

Was she?

Rory Gilmore - strong, secure, stable - was a mess. She had been for months now. Years, really. She was spiraling downwards, faster and faster everyday.

She couldn't even remember what _she_ had been like. What she was supposed to be like. Who she had been, so many years ago, when his passionate kisses behind closed doors were enough.

But really, they had never been enough. She knew that all those years ago, and she knew that now. The sheer intensity of him (of them) had always been all-encompassing and overpowering. And it still scared her.

Everything scared her.

And so she sat, her body motionless, her mind floundering. She felt herself speed up, she felt the spirals get tighter, she felt the wind being knocked out of her.

She had pushed away everyone that could help her. Lorelai, Lane. Even Paris.

But really, she needed to help herself.

Jess Mariano - now strong, secure, stable - was actually content.

She couldn't depend on him to save her.

Her rational mind, although rusty from misuse, argued that she could fix this on her own. She could go back to the way she used to be.

She just had to remember what way that was.

Perhaps timing was cruel like that. Then again, maybe just this once, timing would be empathetic.

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It was mid-afternoon now. The warm October sun poured in through the designer curtains that she had ordered just a week before. After careful deliberation, she had decided to go to the Russian Tea. She had made a commitment to the DAR, and OldRory wasn't one to break her word. That much she remembered.

It was part of her mission to get herself back.

And so she sat at an old oak table in the party dress her grandmother had picked out for her. It was pointless, really. Her being there. Her mind wasn't in it; not that it needed to be. The event was currently going off without a hitch. In any normal given situation, she would be silently congratulating herself for her mad-party-planning-skill. But that was OldNewRory. And NewRory was all about OldRory, and OldRory would wonder why in the hell she was wearing a pink cocktail dress.

It was all very confusing.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Her head lulled to the left. "Hmm?"

"You're grandmother is looking for you," the waiter offered shakily, as any man would after an encounter with Emily Gilmore. "She's in the main hall."

"Thank you," she nodded, making no move to get up. He lingered for a moment, wondering if he should say something else. Like, the older woman was on the verge of causing a scene. Taking in her somber expression, he chose not to.

Rory took a few minutes to collect herself before standing up and smoothing out her dress. Looking at the scene around her, a deep blush crept up her neck to her cheeks.

Jess had seen _this_ Rory.

She couldn't believe she had let him see her like this.

She couldn't believe she had let herself become this.

Shaking her head, she brushed past a group of society wives. Tears threatened to fall as she passed the Balalaika players.

"Rory. Rory!" Her grandmother materialized out of nowhere and grabbed her arm harshly, digging her nails deep into the exposed flesh. "Where in the world were you last night?"

Her shrill voice pierced through the girl's tunnel vision. Rory looked over at her, holding eye contact for only a moment, before pulling herself away and disappearing through the exit.

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Two hours later, after driving around Hartford in a dazed and dumbfounded state, she found herself furiously pounding on the door of her childhood home.

It was blue now. Blue-er than it used to be. At first, she thought that it was just time that had made the house seem newer, but upon closer inspection she realized that there wasn't peeling paint flakes or cracks in the siding. It really was new. The whole house looked new. The only thing missing was the white picket fence. And a golden retriever.

She had been so preoccupied with the look of the house that she had forgotten she had knocked on the door. That explains why she jumped when it opened.

"Oh, hi," she stumbled.

Luke's face broke into a grin. "Rory! Hi." He moved in for a hug before weighing how awkward the situation could potentially be. Luckily, sheer excitement overwhelmed both of them as they embraced. He pulled her inside the house without asking if she could stay, but Rory didn't mind. She was glad to see him happy.

"Is my mom here?"

"No, actually," he made his way into the living room, and she followed. "She's picking up some dessert from Doose's. Not that I asked her to go."

"I'm sure," Rory nodded.

"I'm cooking dinner. She should be home soon."

"Great. Good." Her attention was being focused on the new look of the interior of the house, too. New furniture, new wallpaper, new _everything_.

(Was there room for her here?)

Luke looked back into the kitchen, most likely watching for billowing smoke, then asked, "So, how are you?"

"Good. Mostly," she added. "You?"

"Oh, good. Good."

The hug didn't do them in, but as the conversation dissipated, the silence that settled over them took the situation to a new level of awkward.

Looking around, Rory noticed another new addition to the Gilmore household.

"Oh, wow. Is that..."

"Paul Anka. Yep," Luke said miserably.

Not a Golden Retriever, but close enough.

Rory moved closer. "He's adorable."

"And spazzy," he held out his arm to stop her, "You may want to stay back."

She came to a halt, eying the dog curiously. "Okey-dokey."

A second silence loomed overhead. Desperate to combat it, Rory looked to the back of the house.

"Do you need to be in the kitchen?" she tried.

"There's a timer."

"Oh."

"But when that goes off..." he motioned behind him.

"Right."

"Making roast," he smiled.

Rory nodded. "Fancy."

"Fancier than Spaghetti-Ohs." It was said under his breath, but Rory grinned at the jab to her mother's cooking skills.

She had missed this. She had missed Luke and her mother and the house.

She had missed Spaghetti-Ohs.

Wringing her hands nervously, she decided to broach a particular subject that had been weighing heavily on her mind in the past hours.

"So, um, Jess came to see me."

Luke's head shot up, and a look of...protectiveness overcame his features. "He what? Oh, Rory, I'm sorry. I -"

She cut him off, "No, don't apologize. That's why I'm _here_, actually."

Luke stared at her incredulously. "'He burn down your grandparent's house?"

She couldn't tell if he was joking or not, but she laughed nonetheless. "No. He...he told me I was being an idiot. And he was right. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. For helping him get in contact with me and everything."

Luke shook his head. "I didn't think he was going to go and _see_ you."

"I'm glad he did," she said sincerely.

"Oh," he looked surprised; more so curious. But he knew better than to ask. "Well then, you're welcome."

A noise outside caught her ear, and she turned to the window excitedly. "You hear that?"

"Sounded like a car door to me," he smiled.

Jumping past Luke, Rory shot out the door. She got outside and down the steps before Lorelai heard her. Looking up, her mouth fell into an elated scream as she dropped her bags and enveloped her daughter in a bear hug.

"I am so sorry-" Rory began.

"Oh, honey."

"I am so stupid."

"You aren't stupid."

"I am stupider than stupid. I am stupider than Anna Nicole and Britney Spears and...Whitney Houston all rolled into one."

Lorelai smiled, pulling back to get a good look at her best friend. "Yeah, what in the hell happened with her?"

"Mom. I'm apologizing here," she whined.

"Babe, you can apologize until you're blue in the face, but don't ever, _ever_ compare yourself to Anna Nicole."

Rory nodded furiously, hugging her mom again. "Deal."

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**_notes:_** 'Kay, this one totally ran away from me again. The one time I plan out a plot...it's _so_ not going how I meant it to. Is that a good thing? lol. More and more chapters keep tacking themselves on! sigh Oh well. I'll keep writing as long as you like it. Oh, and there will be Jess in the next chapter. Sorry he didn't make it in this one! Thanks for reading!


	4. you called it love

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

**_notes:_** ThankyouThankyouThankyou so very much for all of your wonderful reviews! I love you all like woah. ;)

'Kay, I just went to edit this, and it's long. Like, 11 pages long (when they're usually only 5 or 6). It is...over 3,000 words. You've been warned...:p

**_chapter.four: _**you called it love

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"Oh my god, I can't believe you're here!" Lorelai squealed for the umpteenth time. Paul Anka's ears fell back and he scurried up the stairs at the sound, but she was too preoccupied with her daughter to notice.

The two were sitting on the couch, facing each other. Luke had long since retired to the bedroom, leaving the pair downstairs to catch up. Since then, they had plowed through two pints of ice cream and stories of the summer.

Rory had chosen to gloss over the bits and pieces containing Logan, leading Lorelai to believe that something may be off. Then again, she could have been refraining out of respect for her mother, knowing that she had never been a fan of the blond Yalie.

Truthfully, Lorelai didn't know what to think of her daughter anymore. But she wanted to be hopeful. She wanted to believe that things would go back to normal. But not knowing the events surrounding Rory's return made it difficult to come to any sort of conclusion.

"But the _worst_ was the DAR."

Lorelai laughed. "The DAR was worse than doing community service alongside felons?"

"I don't even know. I just...it was fine at first. But looking back, I cannot believe I...," she trailed off again. "It was bad."

"You know what's bad? Sores and Boils Lane."

"You have me beat," Rory conceded. "Is it just me, or does Taylor get more high strung as he gets older? I mean, you'd think that he'd begin to mellow; take up bridge, get a cat. _Something_."

"Nothing in this town can be normal."

The duo paused for a moment, Lorelai not sure if she should ask what she wants to ask; Rory not sure if she should share what she wants to share. But if they were to rebuild what they had lost, she needed to be honest with her mother.

"I need to tell you something," Rory began. "And I'm a little nervous, because I don't know how you'll feel about it, but I don't want to _not_ tell you, either. Especially since we're good again. I mean, we're good, right?"

Lorelai smiled reassuringly. "Hit me."

The cup of coffee in her right hand was set aside, wanting nothing to distract her from what she needed to say. She was confident. She could do this.

"Jess came to see me."

Her mother's eyes grew wide. "Oh my god."

"I know," Rory nodded.

"W-why?" she sputtered.

"He wrote a book," she grinned, proudly.

Lorelai wasn't as convinced.

"A book? Like, an actual book?"

"Yep."

"With words. Sentences? _Full_ sentences?" she emphasized skeptically.

"That's the definition of a book, yes."

"Sorry. I just never even heard him speak in phrases, let alone _sentences_. Have you seen it? Is it real? Oh my god, have you read it?"

"I haven't gotten the chance yet. I've skimmed."

"Wow. A book."

Rory rolled her eyes. "You can stop saying the word 'book'."

Sucking on a spoonful of Cherry Garcia, Lorelai cocked her head to the sided quizzacally. "What does that have to do with you?"

Shaking her head, Rory looked away. "You'll laugh."

"Probably," she grinned.

Her daughter glared, chucking a throw pillow at her.

"I'm kidding," she relented. "I won't."

Sighing, Rory ran a hand through her hair, choosing her words carefully. After a few moments, she decided to tell Lorelai the way he had told her. "He wanted to tell me that he couldn't have done it without me."

The moment the words left her mouth, an evil smirk appeared on the older woman's face as the wheel of witticism began turning in her maniacal brain. However, instead of offering any of the dozen or so comments that instantaneously filled her mind, she settled for a drawn out and sweet sounding, "Aw_ww_."

"Don't laugh," Rory pleaded.

Holding up her arms in an _I surrender_ fashion, Lorelai held a straight face. "I'm not."

"There's more," Rory continued.

"Color me curious."

"A lot more, actually." The blush that crept up her cheeks acted as a red flag to Lorelai.

"Rory?"

"We were going to go out to dinner, to catch up," she explained. "But, Logan showed up and invited himself to go with us, and it was a disaster. Logan was an ass, and he treated Jess like dirt, so Jess left and Logan and I fought."

"'You and Logan break up?" she asked softly.

"Not yet."

"Oh," she quieted, letting Rory finish.

"Jess and I talked after all of this, and he told me that I was being stupid. For living with my grandparents, for not talking to you, for dropping out of Yale."

Lorelai's forehead knitted together. "Good for him," she said uncertainly, almost questioningly. Her tone wasn't lost on Rory, but she decided not to address it. Instead, she went on with her recap of the days events.

"It really woke me up. I mean, he's doing so well, and he did this amazing thing, and what have I been doing? Wasting my time. Partying with Logan. Working for the DAR. Finishing up my community service." Rory panicked, "Oh my god, I didn't tell him about the boat."

"Woah, you haven't been wasting time," Lorelai assured her. "This was quite a learning experience for you. That's just as valuable as school. Although I would have preferred it if you were actually at school, but the important thing is that you're back. You're back, right?"

"If you'll have me."

Lorelai smiled, tapped her chin and said, "I'll have to ask Paul Anka."

"Yeah, well, you may not want me after I finish my story."

She settled back down, getting comfortable. "There's more? I'm intrigued."

"I slept with Jess."

"What?" Lorelai shot straight up. That was not what she had been expecting. There at least could have been a little hemming and hawing; one doesn't just dive into a sentence such as _that_.

"I had sex with Jess," she reiterated.

"You had s-"

"Like, four times." The younger girl buried her face in her hands not to hide a look of shame, but the one of relief she knew was visible. Nothing left to hide.

"Rory!" Lore's exclamation forced her to look up, startled.

"I know," she agreed tentatively.

Lorelai had no words. She literally lost her ability to speak in those few seconds. Jess. Rory. Talk. Book. Sex. Book. Sex. Logan. Fight. Sex.

_Eww_.

How long had this been going on? A week? A month? Since May? That's how long it had been since they'd spoken. Almost six months.

That's how much she had missed out on.

Finding her voice, she was able to croak out, "Well, how long was he here?"

"One day. Well, one night. It was a night-morning thing." Rory paused. "You _so_ don't need to know that."

When her mother didn't respond, she went on, trying to assure her.

"I'm breaking up with Logan."

"So you can be with Jess?" she snorted.

Rory instinctively became defensive. "I'm breaking up with him regardless."

Shaking her head, Lorelai repeated, "But you want to be with Jess."

"I need to work on me before I can be with Jess," she reasoned desperately, feeling the attack coming, trying to prepare for the onslaught.

"But you _want_ to be with Jess."

It wasn't a question anymore. It was a statement.

A disgusted statement.

A thousand arguments flooded her mind. A thousand reasons why she should be with Jess, why Jess was perfect for her, why Jess was _perfect_.

It was then that she knew that she hadn't exactly been completely honest with her mother, not yet, just as she hadn't been completely honest with herself.

"I've always wanted to be with Jess," she realized.

Her mother's face softened at the sincere tone of her daughter's voice. "Oh, Rory." She shifted, pulling her daughter next to her, pulling her close.

Rory scooted closer as well, resting her head on her mother's shoulder.

"I don't think I ever really got over him."

"That's quite a declaration," she sighed, smoothing her daughter's hair.

"He's doing so well, mom."

"So you said. Repeatedly."

"It's just that, on the off chance that he and I do..." she fished for the right word, unable to come up with one, "whatever, I just want you to be on board."

"You're an adult," Lorelai reasoned. "There's not much I could do."

"No," Rory shook her head pitifully. "I don't want to do that with you again. We did that with Dean, and then with Logan. I don't want it to be this taboo subject."

"Then I can be honest with you?"

She pulled back, looking her mother in the eyes. "Of course."

"History sometimes repeats itself."

"_Sometimes_."

"I just think you're really vulnerable right now, and I think he saw that and took advantage of it."

Rory stood abruptly, turning away from Lorelai. "I'm not the type to be led around by some guy, mom."

"Dean said he was getting divorced and you jumped into bed with him."

She turned around, fuming. "It wasn't like that."

"Logan got you arrested," Lorelai counted off.

"I was just as much at fault as he was, if not more."

"And now Jess just shows up and-"

Rory held her hands up, cutting her off. "You weren't there mom. You didn't see him, you didn't talk to him."

"It's just-"

"Look, this might not even be anything. I don't want to fight with you over nothing."

Quiet settled over the living room again. The new clock above the fireplace ticked accusingly. Rory looked up at it, realizing that the one that the two had bought together at a craft fair in Hartford so many years ago was missing. That it had been replaced.

Her mother's voice caught her attention. "Okay," she had said.

_Okay, I'll agree not to fight, but I still think you're wrong._

"Okay." Rory's voice was soft. "I think I'm gonna go to bed. It's been a long day."

"Yeah."

Rory began making her way to her room, suddenly wondering if it was even still there. If it had been changed, too.

"Hey, Rory?"

She turned ever-so-slightly. "Hmm?"

"I'm really glad you're home."

"Me too," she nodded, not turning to face her, not pausing for another hug. She kept walking into the dark kitchen. She touched the knob, turning it slowly.

Her room was the same.

But something still seemed different.

She sighed and closed the door slowly, just in time for her to fall against it, sinking to the ground as the tears cascaded down her face.

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It was four o'clock in the morning. She had never woken up at four o'clock in the morning. She had never woken up at five or six o'clock, either. At least, not voluntarily. But after three hours of restless sleep, the clock read 4:12am, and she was wide awake.

Abandoning her hope of maybe getting a few more hours, she sat up, throwing the covers off of her lithe frame. Her bare feet met the cool hardwood with a soft thud as she made her way into the kitchen to start the coffee pot.

The squeak in her door was gone, she noticed.

The coffee maker was new, too. And she didn't know how to turn it on.

Paul Anka padded his way into the kitchen, stopping suddenly upon seeing her, eyeing her as an intruder. He raised his nose, sniffing at her as best he could without getting too close. She put out her hand to pet him, but the sudden movement (sudden from the dog's perspective) made him jump back about three feet. He took a moment, weighed his options, then dashed back into the living room and up the stairs. Out of sight.

She felt like crying again.

Instead, she furiously wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, refusing to let any more tears fall. She took four quick steps back into her room and closed the door tightly. On impulse she reached for her phone and crawled back under the covers, unseeingly dialing the number she had memorized the day before.

After two rings, she was met by a surprisingly friendly _Hello?_

"Hi. It's me. Rory," she added.

Jess put down the manuscript he was looking at. "I know who you are."

She shifted, making sure her comforter was covering any limb that may be exposed. Then, she used her free hand to hold the blanket a few inches above her face to un-muffle her voice.

"Well, I didn't want to sound too presumptuous by identifying myself as just 'me'. For all I know, you could have half-a-dozen 'me's'."

He shook his head, his lips curving upwards. Realizing that she couldn't exactly hear him shake his head, he answered, "I don't."

She heard the smile in his voice, making her grin, "Oh. Good to know."

"So, how are you?" he asked tentatively.

"Good. I'm at home, actually."

"Good."

"I wanted to thank you. For yelling at me."

"I hardly yelled," was all he could think to say.

"Well, it meant a lot to me." She felt herself on the verge of tears again, and she pinched her arm to snap herself out of it.

"So, that's all I'm gonna get thanked for?" he began, mock hurt laced in his voice. "The yelling and not the bedroom acrobatics. I'm a little bit offended."

"The bedroom acrobatics were...I mean, you're amazing, and it was amazing. But you knew that," she paused, silently cursing herself for getting so flustered. "You just wanted to hear me say it."

"Think what you will." Smirking, he rubbed his eyes as rather inappropriate visions of her began overwhelming his thoughts.

She, too, was silent for a moment, reliving the previous night's events.

Closing her eyes, she could almost taste him.

"I want to see you again," she said suddenly, desperately, eyes shooting open, tone pleading.

"I want to see you, too," he answered.

Feeling panicked, she went on, "I don't want this to be a one night stand."

"I don't either," he agreed, trying to keep up with her.

"What do we do?"

He stood and resisted the urge to begin pacing around his small hotel room. Shoving his free hand in his pocket, he focused on the red markings littering the paper in front of him.

"'You break up with what's-his-name?"

"Today. I'm going to today."

"Oh. Gotcha," he said sarcastically.

"Jess, it's not like that. I just haven't seen him since everything happened."

He nodded, believing she could do it this time. Believing she _would_ do it this time. "M'kay."

"Is there anyone you need to-"

"Nope."

"Oh."

"You heading back to school?" He asked, changing the subject.

"I'm gonna look into registering for the spring semester. God, I have so much to do. I need to make a list."

_OldRory made lists._

"Still a journalist?" It was more a statement than a question, but she answered nonetheless.

"I think so," she grinned confidently.

"But you don't start until the spring?"

"I would be March."

"That's a ways away," he whistled.

"Yep."

"So you'll have some free time."

"In theory," she continued the banter, silently urging him to make his point, hoping he was alluding to what she thought he was alluding to.

He didn't say anything for a moment, and she was afraid they had gotten disconnected. She was about to say his name when a frustrated sigh came through, signaling his presence.

Throwing caution to the wind, he went against his better judgment and said, "You should come see me."

It took every single fiber of her being not to shoot up and jump in circles around the room as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She felt 16 again, she felt that excitement a girl feels when a boy you _really like_ asks you out for the first time.

But she wasn't 16 and he wasn't a boy and this was an adult question.

Still, she was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt, and she swore he would be able to hear it in her voice.

"Aren't you on the road?" she asked as coolly as she could.

"I'll be back in Philly in about a week, week and a half."

_He sounds so sexy the way he says Philly _she thought.

"You could come and stay for a few days. If you wanted to," he added, unsure and sounding slightly nervous.

"I do," she nodded quickly. It actually came out as more of an _Ido_, one syllable, one word.

He smiled again at her eagerness and quickly counted the days until he was due back home. Nine. "Sounds like a plan." He, too, tried to sound aloof about the whole situation, but she could tell that he was happy.

"So, good. That sounds good," she said. "I'm sorry if I woke you up or anything," she added.

"Oh, no. I was already awake."

"Okay. Well, I should go. I have a list to make and stuff."

"Yeah. And I'll call you. When I get back," he stumbled. Closing his eyes tightly, he picked up an empty water bottle and hit himself over the head with it, unable to bring himself to pull it together.

"Okay. Bye Jess."

"Bye." After hanging up, he tossed his cell phone onto the sagging mattress and threw the water bottle against the wall.

_I'll call you. I'll call you. _He repeated over and over. _Way to stay calm, Mariano. _

Grinning (yes, _grinning_), he sat back down at the small table and looked at his watch, then at his discarded phone. If he left now, he could get a jump start on the day's errands. And the sooner he took care of getting his book in actual book_stores_, the sooner he could get back home. And the sooner he could see her.

Standing, he quickly began gathering the few belongings he traveled with.

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She closed her phone in one swift movement, then snaked her arm out of her cocoon to set it on the nightstand. Pulling her hand back quickly, she settled back under the covers and took a moment to study the patterns the light made through the comforter. After a few moments, her mind wandered back to thoughts of Jess, and she began grinning again. Bringing her hands up to cover her face, she took a moment to kick her feet and flail her body as her excitement brimmed over. Then, she pulled the covers away and sat up, beginning her search for a paper and pen.

'Cause that's what OldRory would've done.

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**_notes:_** Hope you liked this one! Please drop me a review. Thanks for reading. :D


	5. i called it greed

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

**_notes:_** Sorry this took so long! "How to Survive Small Town Life AND Taylor Doose" was deleted from the site, and it put me in a bit of a writing funk. It has since been updated and moved to a new site, and the healing has begun. lolz. (By the way, the link to that story is now in my profile!)

You people are too kind to me. Every single review that arrives in my inbox brightens my day to no end. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story! Oh, **soph**, thanks for the Colin/Finn mention. They're in this chappie because of you!

This one is for Kat (**Certifiably Insane**) and Cody (**marrymemilo**).

**_chapter.five:_** i called it greed

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The sun rose slowly that morning. Lorelai watched the window for what seemed like hours as the light crept along the floor at a snail's pace. She'd been awake for quite some time now, yet she couldn't bring herself to get out of bed. It was inexplicably early still, but that wasn't the reason. It was the unexplainable heaviness of her limbs that prevented her from moving, let alone standing.

She was so exhausted, she could sleep for days. If only she could actually **fall** asleep.

Lorelai pulled her gaze away from the window as the room was fully illuminated now. Rotating onto her left side, she was met by a pair of blue eyes examining her lazily.

"You must've come up late," Luke commented, stretching his arms far above his head, reaching for the ceiling.

Lorelai gave a half nod and a short, "Yep."

Her tone didn't phase him; instead he subconsciously attributed it to the early morning, assuming it was simply still laced with sleep. Sitting up, he questioned her further with an unknowingly naive, optimistic, "So, how'd it go? Everything good?"

"Oh, it's peachy." Her eyes stayed trained on the ceiling, arms at her sides, brow furrowed in deep thought. An odd position for Lorelai Gilmore to be in.

Staring at her dumbly, Luke sighed in frustration. "Are you being serious or sarcastic? It's too early for me to tell."

She sat up then, taking the time to carefully mush the pillows against the headboard to make herself a nice nook. As she settled, Luke realized that a story of some sort would most likely follow.

Putting her hands in her lap, she turned to Luke with a very serious look on her face. Inhaling deeply, she spoke in a very matter-of-fact manner. "Rory and Jess had sex."

A look of pure shock captured his face in confused distortion as he managed to utter a weak, "What?"

Any semblance of a calm demeanor that she may have been attempting to uphold vanished as she gestured wildly, adding, "Four times."

Luke immediately shrunk back. "Oh, god. I did _not_ need to know that last part."

She spoke fast now, her words running together. "Oh, but you did. If I have to know it, then you have to know it. I don't want to know it. Do you think I want to know it? You _have_ to know it, too."

"Jesus, Lorelai."

"Sorry, babe," she said, not at all convincingly.

"What about that other guy?" he realized, his pace catching up to hers.

"I don't know," she answered, shaking her head.

"What about your mom?"

Her response was the same; an exasperated, "I don't know."

"So," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "are they together now?"

"She wants to be. I don't like it Luke," she admitted, looking away from him. "I don't trust it."

"That little shit," Luke began angrily. "I can't believe he- after I- I knew this would happen. I should've never given him- I should've told him...god damn it."

At the last syllable, he threw the covers off of himself and stood up, fuming. Pacing back and forth, he continued his tirade. "I told him how now is not a good time. I told him that she was not in a good place. He just had to go there and - I didn't know he was actually going to go there. I didn't know, Lorelai."

Lorelai, who had been trying her best to keep up with her fiancee's ramblings, was sufficiently lost. (Now she knew how Luke often felt.) "Whoa. Back up. What do you have to do with this?"

"I told him where she was," he groaned.

Her head cocked to the side, debating whether or not she had heard him correctly. "You what?"

"We've kept in touch, you know, talking once or twice a month." At Lorelai's surprised look, he backtracked, "He _is_ my nephew, Lore. Come on."

"Well, you didn't tell me about it, now did you?" she questioned.

"I knew how you'd react."

"No, you didn't," she argued, her eyes moved back and forth with his body as he continued across the room. "I would've been fine with it."

He rolled his eyes. "'Cause you look so okay with it right now."

Sighing, she rubbed her forehead, making an attempt to grab hold of the situation. "How did Rory even come up in one of your conversations? That's what I'm most interested in."

"It was after I told Rory about the engagement. Remember, I told her, but I hadn't told you I had told her, and I was talking to him and I told him about the engagement-"

"Luke," she interrupted him gently. "I need separate sentences here."

Nodding, he stopped his pacing. "I ended up going into how I'd told Rory when I shouldn't have told Rory and that I didn't know what to do, and well, some general details of the story came out," he paused nervously.

"Oh," was all she said. It sounded like an understanding 'oh.' At the very least, an indifferent 'oh,' which was better than a myriad of angry alternatives.

"It was an accident," he continued. "It's not like he wouldn't shut up about her or anything. I brought it up. And I didn't tell him about the boat, or school, or the community service. I didn't go into specifics. I just said that you two had had a falling out."

"Okay," she agreed (definitely understanding). "But...how did you get to the point where you told him where she was?"

Crossing the room again, he sat down at the foot of the bed. She crawled down, closer to him, and they sat facing the window. He took a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Well, he knew there was a rift. I don't know, it came up. He asked where she had been all summer. I slipped up and said 'her grandparents.' I mean, he'd been there before, so that must be how he knew how to get there, but I didn't think for a second that he was gonna-"

"Luke, I know," she interjected softly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay."

"I'm gonna kill him," he shook his head. "No, I'm going to call him and tell him that I'm going to kill him, then I'm going to go over there and kill him."

"You can't kill him. Rory would be a little upset. Not to mention Liz," she added, smiling now at his overbearing conviction. At his undying love for her and her daughter. So much so, that he would go after his own family to ensure their happiness. Such a silly man.

He waved her off. "Liz can get over it."

Smiling even wider now, she lay her head on his shoulder, reminding him quietly, "Plus, we have a wedding to plan."

His mind halted in the middle of its plan to dismember Jess at the sound of her voice. He smiled too, "I suppose we do, don't we."

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Lorelai entered the kitchen an hour or so later to find that her daughter had set up a work station at the kitchen table. Lap top open, cell phone out, papers of various hues scattered everywhere. She bent down to pick up a run away ballpoint pen and waved it in front of Rory, gaining her attention.

"Hey," she started. "I'm glad you're up; I didn't want to have to leave you a note." Rory stood up, shifting gears again. Lap top shut, phone in purse, papers organizing.

"Where you off to?" Lorelai asked casually, turning on the coffee pot and fishing out some wheat bread to make toast for Paul Anka.

"I have some errands to run," she offered vaguely. "Get my stuff from grandma and grandpa's. I need to talk to Logan."

"Right." Flipping the 'on' switch on the coffee maker, she turned to face her daughter. "Well, could you pencil me in for breakfast? Come on; you haven't had Luke's coffee in too long."

She held up and empty to-go cup. "Already been."

"Wow." Lorelai stood, mouth agape in front of her daughter. Lists, phone calls, coffee runs; and all before six o'clock in the morning. Rory version 3.0 was giving Rory 1.0 a run for her money.

Feeling uncomfortable under her mother's scrutinizing gaze, she elaborated, "Well, I needed coffee, and I couldn't figure out how to work the machine, so..."

"Oh, yeah. It's new. It's tricky," she added, patting the white surface adoringly. Abandoning her caress mid-motion, her head cocked to the side and she asked curiously, "Did you run into anyone at Luke's?"

"Not really," Rory answered hurriedly, moving back and forth between the kitchen and her room at a furiously fast pace. "Caesar was the only one working. It was early, so there weren't too many people there."

Watching her daughter moving at the rate of one Speedy Gonzalez, she shook her head incredulously. "How long have you been up?"

Meeting her mother's eye for the first time that morning, she smiled slowly. "Long enough."

"Yeah, you and me both," Lorelai agreed. Her head popped up, her short-term memory sparked by the bitter smell of percolating coffee. "So, breakfast?"

"I would love to, but I just have so much to do..." she trailed off, motioning in the general vicinity of her room, (a direction that didn't make sense but it seemed she had this overwhelming need to exercise her motor skills that morning).

Lorelai's face fell, but Rory was too busy packing up her lap top to notice. Recovering, she nodded gently and poured herself a cup of coffee, quickly putting the pot back under the drip.

"Oh, okay."

"Dinner?" Rory asked, distracted, fastening the straps to her book bag.

"Sounds good."

"Great." Successfully wrangling her bag closed, she slung it over her shoulder and grabbed her car keys. After scanning the area to make sure she had collected everything, she kissed her mom on the cheek.

"Oh, wow. You're leaving this second?" Lorelai called to her disappearing form.

"Don't wanna waste the daylight!" she replied from the hallway. The door closed with a dissonant thud, breaking through the early morning calm. The reverberations dissipated just as quickly as they had come, leaving Lorelai standing in the deadening silence, like the eye of the storm, the faint sound of the percolating coffee keeping her company.

The clicking of Paul Anka's nails against the hardwood joined the coffee drip, making her feel less lonely. He crept into the kitchen cautiously, looking every which way for the unknown girl. After peeking into her room and deciding she was gone, he settled at Lorelai's feet, tail wagging happily.

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She knocked on the door twice. Steady, strong rhythm. Business-like. Professional. Purposeful. No hemming or hawing.

Finn answered. Not who she was expecting, but she was thankful for the momentary distraction.

"'Ello, love." He stepped away from the frame, arms outstretched towards her with an excited grin on his face. "Are you in?"

Her eyebrows raised expectantly. "Excuse me?"

"We're 'ff on yet another misadventure, post haste. 'Could probably use a designated driver." He paused thoughtfully, adding, "Or a getaway driver, depending. You in?"

Smiling, she shook her head. "Not today, Finn. Is Logan here?"

"Sure he is. Pardon my manners, come in, darling."

He wrapped his arm around her (always the flirt) and led her inside the spacious apartment. Colin was sitting on the sofa, popping peanuts like candy and flipping through a _Playboy_. Classy.

Finn left her side, presumably to get Logan since he was nowhere in sight.

Not wanting to...interrupt Colin, but not wanting to stand awkwardly in silence, she opted for a general greeting. "Hi, Colin."

He nodded "Rory" without looking up.

Realizing the room was devoid of anything feminine, she asked, "Finally lose your milkmaid?"

This time he met her eyes, smiling. "She shipped off a fortnight ago."

"Pity."

Clutching his chest, he offered a weak, "Yes, I'm heartbroken."

Colin's eyes shifted, focusing on something over Rory's left shoulder. Turning to follow his gaze, she was met by a gloating smirk.

"Surprised to see you," Logan stretched his arms behind his back lazily. Cocky. _Cocky, cat-like bastard_.

Crashing down on the couch next to Colin, Finn looked knowingly between the two. "Uh-oh," he stage whispered. "We're still in a f_ii_ght."

Looking from the two to the third Stooge himself, she motioned to the door. "Can I talk to you please? Outside."

"No. No, anything you have to say to me can be said in front of the boys." His arms were across his broad chest now; was he trying to make himself look bigger, scary? Like you're told to do when you come across a mountain lion or a bear. Was she a mountain lion? A vision of her lunging at him and ripping his throat out made Rory smile to herself.

"Logan-"

He cut her off. "No, I really want them to witness the impending apology. They wouldn't believe me otherwise."

Unable to hide her surprise, her jaw dropped unceremoniously. "Apology? I did not come here with an apology."

"Oh, so you're looking for one?" His arms clenched themselves tighter, the veins visibly pulsating just underneath his skin. "Well, that's too damn bad."

She shook her head, a gesture that went right over his. _He'll never get it._

"Please, Logan," she spat. "Like I'd ever expect something bordering humane from _you_."

"What do you want?" He looked towards Colin and Finn, eyes sparkling. He was expecting her to crack.

"To tell you that we're done." Her tone was final, strong and steady, full of conviction.

A low whistle escaped Colin.

The grin fell off of Logan's face slowly, in a frame-by-frame sort of haze. Rory's head was spinning; had she not been so angry, she would have loved the surge of liberation that flooded her senses.

"What?" he asked, eyes wide, not quite believing her, not wanting to.

"We're done, I'm done, it's over. Have a nice life." She turned for the door in what would have been an amazing concise scene had Logan not spoken up, had he not broken the moment, _her_ moment, her perfect moment of perfect triumph..

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. You- you can't just do that." It was a statement, one of equal conviction, almost an order. No one just _leaves_ Logan Huntzburger.

"Yes, I can."

"Do you want me to say I'm sorry? Fine; I'm sorry, okay?" His arms flew up, leaving the comfortable cocoon of his torso, making himself look even bigger, even stronger. Fending off the mountain lion.

"No, it's not okay. I saw you for who you really are last night, Logan. And I didn't like it at all," she paused, chuckling to herself, laughing at her delayed reaction. Had it taken her _this long_ to see? _This long_ to realize who he was?

"I was drunk, that wasn't me, you know that. Come on."

_Come on_. Had she really fallen for that? She had, countless times. _Come on_; she had a drink. _Come on_; she took her clothes off. _Come on_, _come on_, _come on_...

"No."

"Ace...this- this is insane."

_So is stealing a boat. So is not talking to Lorelai for six months. So is dropping out of Yale and working for the DAR and living in a pool house and...(Jess)..._

"Well, maybe it is," she agreed. "Maybe I am, I don't know anymore."

"God, Rory, I love you."

This caught their audience's attention and Colin opened his mouth to say something. Finn noticed and he quickly stifled him, watching intently as the scene unfolded before them.

"No," she shook her head, unconsciously stepping back. "Don't say that Logan, you don't mean it."

"Yes. I do, I do."

_Come on_, _come on_, _come on_...

"It doesn't change anything."

"What does that mean?" He stepped towards her now, Colin and Finn's eyes following. _Like one of those Felix the Cat clocks_, she mused. (Like the one her and her mother _used to _have. Before things changed.)

When she didn't respond (instead staring blankly at him, _through_ him), Logan's eyes shifted, realization dawning behind them. "What else is going on here, besides the fact that I hurt Kerouac's feelings?" he asked, incredulous.

"_Jess_," she corrected.

"Whatever," he waved his left hand dismissively. "Is this about him? Did you let him get under your skin or something?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"He just got under your skin, that's all it is," he tried to reason.

"No, it's not," she practically shouted, leaving the room in a eerie silence, voice echoing off of the walls.

Bits and pieces of understanding clicked into place at her loaded words.

"So, you're leaving me. For some Vonnegut-wannabe that you hadn't seen in 5 years!"

Rory gave Logan a simple "Yes."

"You _are_ insane," he decided, finger pointing at her. Like a gun. Boom. The only defense against a mountain lion.

"Wow, Logan," she rolled her eyes, "Way to win me back."

He brushed past her quickly, a blip in her line of sight. It was one of those rare (perhaps unheard of) moments on a college campus when everything everywhere was still; the door to the suite slammed behind him, the sound waves traveling all the way down the hall, bouncing across every single doorframe, rippling along the drywall.

Her chest heaved, her body completely draining of adrenaline. Colin and Finn, however, were just getting pumped up.

"Thanks for the show," Colin clapped. "I've never seen Huntz burned like that before."

"Brava, mi'lady," Finn chimed in. "So," he began conspiratorially, "is it really over?"

Colin sighed. "She's not gonna date you, Finn."

Holding up a hand, Finn reprimanded him. "Let the woman speak for herself."

Rory smiled slowly, taking comfort in the fact that Colin and Finn were _Colin and Finn_. She knew them. She could count on them, or at least on their reactions. Peacefully predictable in their spontaneity.

"I'm not gonna date you, Finn."

He hung his head sadly, shaking it side to side. "Shame."

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The bitter cold of evening cloaked the town, the taste of snow lingering in the air. The girls sat nestled in the warmth of the diner, for the first time in what had seemed like decades, sharing a comfortable but still generic conversation.

"So, he took it well then?" Lorelai concluded sarcastically, dipping a french fry in the ketchup rolling down the side of her burger.

Rory nodded, playing along. "Much better than I thought he would."

"At least grandma wasn't at the house when you went to pack up your stuff."

"Ah, yes. One last confrontation I can postpone."

Lorelai raised her coffee cup, motioning for a toast. "Here, here."

Clinking their mugs together, the two drank deeply and resumed their dinner, keeping the topics at hand fairly safe. The inn, Sookie and the kids, movies and music. Nothing about the wedding, or Yale, or the living situation. How things have changed. How Rory might not fit, not as perfectly as she used to. Jess wasn't mentioned at all, and Rory had yet to share the plans of her visit to Philly with her mother. But they were working their way back.

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**_notes: _**Again, sorry this took so long! And I'm equally sorry that there was no Jess. I'm just as sad about it. :( But don't worry; the next chapter is Rory in Philly. :D Lit moments galore, my friends. That I promise you. Thanks for reading!


	6. come be my fantasy

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

**_notes: _**I'm on fy-aa. Huzzah! lolz. Thanks again to **Kat** for the quick once over and the banner! Hope you like this one. :D

**_chapter.six:_** come be my fantasy

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He picked up his phone for the fifth time only to set it back on the receiver. Plastic on plastic made a muffled 'thud' that echoed through his apartment. The silence settled and Jess made his way to the fridge, retrieving a beer and downing half of it in one gulp. It was so quiet.

So quiet he could hear fucking birds chirping. Fucking chirping, for Christ's sake. In the middle of October. (Shouldn't they be south by now?) That pissed him off for some reason.

He would have turned on the television, but the setting sun signaled the impending evening. The only thing on in the evening is the evening news, and the thought of listening to the corporate sponsors that were continually clogging the media waves pissed him off even more.

Plus, he saw her face on every news anchor, every reporter, every correspondent in every fucking foreign country. He wasn't in the mood for that.

And he wasn't really in the mood for South Park, the only alternative.

He would have turned on the radio, but music these days leaves little to be desired. The always-declining music industry, filled with made-up teeny boppers and wanna-be thugs, had nothing to do with _music_ anymore.

Plus, every song he heard made him think of her. In some random, arbitrary way, she'd float into his thoughts, riding the notes from the speakers to his ears.

It was ridiculous, really. How often he thought of her.

(No, what was ridiculous was that he had picked up and put down the phone five times trying to call her.)

He would have put on a CD, something loud, something obnoxious, something to beat the silence (and her) from his brain. Something new, something old, as long as it was something she had probably never heard of, something that had nothing to do with her. Something without memories attached.

But that wouldn't work, he knew. She'd wander into his thoughts anyway. He'd create memories that weren't there. He'd immediately want to tell her about the band, the song. He'd have to resist the urge to call her and tell her how much he loved the new Decemberists album, how much he'd love to see Cat Power in concert.

He would have picked up a book, but that has an obvious Rory Connotation. No explanation necessary.

He looked at the phone again. _It's so far away_, he told himself. _Oh yeah, a whole four steps_, he concluded sarcastically. Finishing the beer and crushing the can in his hand, he took those four steps to the phone and dialed unseeingly. Dialed before he could think about what in the hell he was doing, what in the hell he would say.

The tone of the ring pulsed in his ear. He counted, four, five, six, seven. She didn't pick up. Eight, nine, te-

"I'm here! Did you hang up?" she asked hurriedly.

"I was about to," he admitted.

"Jess?" she half-questioned, half-stated. Surprised. Nervous. _Slightly_ nervous.

"Yeah. You busy, 'cause I can call back, or-"

"No," she cut him off. "I was just...um, well, I was juggling papers and coffee and I picked up my phone, but then I dropped it, and it skidded on the floor under my bed and I had to set everything down and actually get on the floor and...kinda, shimmy under my bed to get it and I touched a dust bunny and it was gross, but, no," she concluded. "I'm not busy."

"Well, then."

He sounded amused and she flushed, feeling stupidly childish. The butterflies that had invaded her stomach floated up to her throat, making it difficult to speak. "Sorry. I'll start over. Hello."

"Hey."

She grinned at the lazy sound of his voice. "How are you?"

"Good. My day hasn't been nearly as interesting as yours, but I'm good."

"Oh, well, up until the dust bunny encounter, I was having a pretty average day, too."

At sheer tone of her voice, that always kind, always compassionate, always cheery voice that made him soar, he decided he didn't mind the chirping birds. Not really.

"How are...things?" he asked, leaving the question purposefully vague. Not wanting to push her. Knowing that she needed to come to him, in a sense.

(Taking his time with this. With _them_.)

"Good," she sang back (he flew a little higher). "I tried calling the Dean of Admissions the other day, but he's out of town until the end of the month, which sucks. But I'm the first person on the list to meet with him when he gets back, so that's good." She sounded excited.

"That is good," he agreed, feeling his voice match hers.

She noticed and reveled in it. The idea that he was over the moon simply because she was. "_And_ I got most of my stuff out of my grandparent's house without actually having to talk to my grandma, so that was nice," she continued. "And I...well, I broke up with Logan, which was delightful. But I'm good."

"Good," he nodded, feeling the pieces falling into place. Feeling that maybe they weren't as doomed as he had been fearing. Hoping against all hopes.

Feeling the need to jump around her room for some unexplainable and uncontrollable reason, she walked over to bed and sat, tapping her left foot, taking in the sound of his breathing over the line, taking comfort in the companionable silence they were able to achieve over the phone. Never awkward, even after all this time.

"Are you home?" she inquired suddenly. Almost regretful to break the moment, but not able to command her curiosity.

"Yeah, I got back yesterday. That's actually why I called," he explained.

Rory lay back on her bed, curling her legs up, knees pointing towards the ceiling. "Really?"

"You still want to come up?" he offered without hesitation. _Might as well just get it out_. "'Cause, like I said, I'm back now, and I don't have anything going on. Besides work, but that's flexible..." he trailed off, waiting for an answer. Hoping for a certain answer.

"Well, I'm sort of at a standstill till I hear from the Dean." She paused, biting her lower lip. "And I...I'd really like to see you," she admitted shyly. Why she felt self-conscious, she didn't know. She was just being honest.

She hadn't really been honest in a while. Maybe that's why it felt so foreign.

He couldn't help but smirk at her timid declaration. "There's a train that leaves from New Haven to Philly Friday at 10am," he offered casually.

"And you just know that off the top of your head?" she teased, already planning what to pack and how long she could stay.

"It's one of my hobbies; memorizing train schedules," he told her in a 'Duh' sort of tone.

"As well as private driveway stalking and author extraordinaire?" she bit back cleverly. "Where do you find the time?"

Ignoring the 'author' comment (he hardly considered himself one), he retorted, "Isn't it convenient?"

"It really is."

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As if packing was the hard part. _If only_ packing was the hard part. But, no; packing had been relatively easy. Well, easy compared to what she still had to accomplish before she left the next day.

She _had to_ tell Lorelai.

And that definitely wasn't going to prove to be anything remotely resembling the definition of 'easy.'

She had been putting it off for days now. Every opportunity that presented itself fell away before Rory could seize the moment. And those opportunities were few and far between.

The day was creeping up on her slowly, time disappearing faster than she could comprehend. And as excited – no, _elated_ – as she was to spend some quality time with her 'friend'? boyfriend? lover? yes, definitely lover, she almost wished she had another day, another week, another month to prepare herself for this conversation.

Almost.

The majority of her brain (and of her body) felt the next 18 hours couldn't go by fast enough.

Rory was going over the short list of pointers she had made in light of the occasion when she heard the front door open and close. Jumping up quickly, preparation momentarily forgotten, she lifted her suitcase off of the bed and shoved it under the sagging mattress. No reason to give Lorelai any unnecessary clues.

At least, that's what she told herself.

She met her mother in the living room for Chinese food and _Untamed Heart_, of all movies.

They sat, eating and talking and mocking for the next two hours. Two more hours of delay. Two more hours of peace. The calm before the impending storm.

The credits were rolling when Lorelai unexpectedly broached the subject, unknowing to what she was really getting into.

"'You talk to Jess lately?" she asked as casually as she could muster, carefully threading him into the conversation in order to quell her own curiosity.

"Actually, yeah, I have," Rory answered, picking at the remainder of her sweet and sour pork. Not able to meet her mother's eyes, knowing what she'd see in their reflection.

"Really?"

Her surprised tone confirmed Rory's initial fears, not needing to look at her to sense the disappointment. Gaze still trained on her food, she grunted an indistinct, "Uh-huh."

Lore clicked her tongue, obviously not expecting that answer, completely at a loss as to where to take the conversation. Still unsure of how to talk to her daughter, let alone talk to her about _this_, she sat twiddling her thumbs, feeling useless.

Looking up now, Rory tried to choose her words carefully, feeling how fragile their relationship still was. Unable to come up with a painless way to tell her and not wanting to sugarcoat it, she dove in. "I'm going to go see him," she announced, nodding confidently.

Silence descended upon them, mother and daughter at a standoff. Rory took the few pregnant moments to mentally prepare herself for the onslaught, and Lorelai didn't disappoint.

"You're kidding me," she exclaimed, incredulous, shocked, positive that she hadn't heard her correctly. There's no way…

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Rory continued, "and I'm sorry I'm just now telling you. I just couldn't find the words until I was forced to, I guess."

"When did you make these _plans_?" Lorelai asked, voice laced with mock-sincerity.

Trying to attain her sense of calm, Rory was able to keep her tone relatively even. "Earlier this week. He called me and asked if I wanted to come and see him."

She laughed, her disdain turning to condescension. "That's quite a ways to travel for a booty-call, Rory."

"It's not like that, and you know it," she snapped back.

"So, what? Are you two dating now? Or are you just going to 'hook up,'" she finger quoted, "whenever he's in town?"

"Don't be like this, mom," she pleaded.

Lorelai persisted in her sardonic quest for answers, "What? I'm just trying to get a feel for what's going on here!"

"I don't know what's going on here, okay!" Rory shouted back. "But I need to find out. Alright? Is that _okay_ with you?"

Apparently, the question was meant to be rhetorical, for Rory rose as soon as the words left her lips and hurried to her room. Hurried to her room as the tears began to fall for the umpteenth time in only a matter of days.

Lorelai sat alone in the living room, watching herself physically deflate. Having been miles high a moment ago while berating her daughter, she sunk into the couch, now mere centimeters tall.

It never used to be this hard. And she had no idea how to fix it, especially with Jess in the picture.

Jess.

_This can only end badly_, she thought. And the last thing she wanted was for Rory to get hurt by him. _Again_. For the second, third, fourth (she had lost count over the years) time.

The idea that he had changed, that he had grown up, never even entered her mind.

The idea that she was the one doing the hurting this time lingered for a moment, but she couldn't bring herself to face it, let alone admit it.

Instead, she shoved it aside.

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It was official; 4:59 on Thursday evening had just proven to be the longest minute of his life.

Jess sat at his small desk oblivious to everything around him save the clock for the last 60 seconds. A pencil dangled between his parted lips as he watched the thin red hand tick tick tick slowly, slower than it even had before.

"Who's the skirt?" a voice demanded from behind him. Startled, the pencil fell from his mouth and he swiveled around in his desk chair to find Eddie's excited eyes scrutinizing his every move.

"Excuse me?" Jess asked coolly, raising an eyebrow to complete his patented 'Why in the hell are you talking to me?' look.

"The skirt. The one that's got you all googly eyed." He grinned and took a seat across from Jess, expecting a story of some sort. "Come on, spill."

Instead, Jess shrugged and turned back around to begin gathering his things, seeing as how the clock had since struck the black 5.

Eddie, however, was not the sort to be ignored. Rising swiftly, he moved around Jess's desk and continued the interrogation. "You hooked up with some hottie while you were out and about, didn't you? Mariano, you dog you," he winked. Turning to the rest of the office, he proclaimed, "Hey! Mariano got some puss-"

Cutting him off, Jess did his best to keep the details indistinct. "It wasn't like that."

"But there was a girl," Eddie nodded, not needing his confirmation.

"There's always a girl," Rick, their boss, chimed in from the back.

Giving Jess a solemn look, Eddie took a moment of contemplation. "Was it _the_ girl?"

Jess shook his head, regretting the far away look he'd let capture his features this week. He should've known one of these guys would catch on. After all, they did spend the majority of their days in that office on Locust Street. You might not be able to call the five friends, but they had gotten to know each other. And everyone knew that Jess always had a certain disinterested aura about him. Unless something was up.

He'd been caught.

"I am not discussing this with you," he offered lamely, tried desperately to put an end to the conversation.

"Oh my fuck, it was!" Eddie cackled, doubling over in shock and glee.

"What girl?" Todd spoke, moving towards the discussion.

"_The_ girl," Eddie explained, still giggling. "The one who broke his heart and turned him into the empty shell of a man that he is today."

"Oh. _That_ girl," he nodded, not necessarily knowing the story behind this particular situation (just as Eddie didn't), but knowing that everybody had one of some sort.

"There's always a girl," Rick speculated again, passing by the guys, not stopping to hear the bones of the tale.

Eddie shook Jess by the shoulders, still grinning like mad. "I want to meet her."

"Hell no." Shaking him off, Jess waved his arms pointedly with each syllable.

"Ha! So there is a '_the_ girl'," he sing-songed in triumph.

"Well, would you look at that," Jess gestured to the clock, now reading 5:02. "It's time for me to leave."

"No. No, Jess, _details_," Eddie wailed, drawing out the last word in a bemoaned plea. "Come on. Throw me a bone."

Passing by again, Rick nodded to Jess, "I need you in here early tomorrow."

"I'm off tomorrow."

This got Rick to stop and face the trio. Pausing as if he was recounting the crew's schedule in his head (he wasn't), he shook his head. "No, you aren't."

"Yes, I am," he reiterated.

"You just had a vacation," Rick dismissed his claim. "You were traveling."

"Oh, yeah. All around the vast magnificence that is New England. That was for work," Jess argued.

Rick shook his head again, coming up with, "Work that you volunteered for."

"'Still _work_," Sighing, already feeling defeated, he tried again. "You already said I could have the time off."

"He probably already made plans," Eddie speculated. "With _the_ girl. Come on, let him go."

Rick contemplated this for a moment, coming up with a compromise. "I need _someone_ in here tomorrow."

Turning to Jess, Eddie threw up his arms. "I'll cover your shift if you give me details."

Resigned to his fate, Jess reluctantly nodded. "Fine."

"Hot damn!" Eddie yelled, high-fiving Todd. Rolling his eyes, Jess grabbed his jacket and his bag, and cut between his two rejoicing co-workers.

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**_notes:_** I have the next chapter done, too! It was originally part of this, but I really want the Rory and Jess goodness to be all together in a happy Lit-verse. So, the sooner you review, the sooner the next installment will be up! Thanks for reading!


	7. we lay between the sheets

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

**_notes: _**I have the greatest reviewers on the face of the earth! Hands down, you are the best! And I should treat you better! I know, I said this would be up soon. But I lie. Unintentionally, but it happens. The thing is, I kept thinking of things to add to this; then it wasn't flowing, and I had to do some major editing. But, finally, Lit!Fluff, but with a teensy bit of plot. As promised.

**_chapter.seven: _**we lay between the sheets

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The three-hour train ride proved to be the longest three hours of her entire 21 years. Longer than the entire 21 years themselves.

She had managed to re-read his book twice, but once she moved onto Edith Wharton, the words bled together into an indiscernible gray. She decided that her ability to focus depended solely on him, and so she picked up _The Subsect_ and began it a fourth time.

Once they finally pulled into the station, instead of jumping for joy, Rory fell into a panic. Over three hours and she hadn't even begun to think of how she was going to greet him. How she was going to act. They hadn't even really picked a place to meet; why didn't she think to pick a place to meet? Now there was the possibility of having to amble around aimlessly, becoming completely lost in a place she'd never been before.

All of these thoughts raced through her mind at warp speed as she was ushered off of the train, unseeingly conforming to the masses as they made their way into the station. Everyone had a place to go, it seemed, as they ebbed and flowed around her in waves. Rory stood in a dream-like state, watching people – _glimpses_ of people – spiraling around her.

He caught sight of her blue eyes in a sea of bodies that came in from the last drop off. Lifting himself off of the windowpane, he took a few steps forward, trying to get a better look.

Her body stayed motionless (the only stationary one in the room) as her head moved from left to right, taking in her surroundings. Detached would be the only way to describe her stance, as if she was wandering in from a memory.

She was the still point of the turning world.

It was as she was making her second sweep of the room that she caught sight of him. Suddenly, she lit up, no longer looking out of place, no longer seeming like a hazy mirage.

Any uncertainty she had of how to greet him vanished as his smile reached her. That addicting smile, that magnetic smile. In true movie-like fashion, she dropped her bag at her feet and ran to him on impulse, no hemming, no hawing. She couldn't have planned a better greeting.

Jess stumbled as her body crushed into his, her slender arms wrapping tightly around his neck. He only hesitated for a fraction of a moment before pulling her even closer to him, placing soft and sweet kisses in her hair, on her cheeks.

Pulling back only slightly and making sure to keep a firm hold on his body, she smiled up at him.

"Hi," she grinned, unable to even attempt to mask her excitement. Without waiting for any kind of reply, she pulled herself up and gave him what was meant to be an innocently chaste kiss, one appropriate for public places (such as train stations). Instead, he cradled her face in his hands, pulling her closer still, massaging her lips with his, positively devouring her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was supposed to be feeling self-conscious, but he pervaded her thoughts and pushed any hesitation she may have had out of her psyche as burning blue flames began to take over her body.

It was then that he pulled away, leaving her feeling dizzy and on fire. Lips still parted, she quietly gasped, discreetly trying (and failing) to get her bearings.

Apparently, he was facing a similar problem as he buried his face in her shoulder, clinging tightly to the sides of her shirt to steady himself.

She fleetingly wondered if she was going to have enough energy for this weekend.

She then ignored the thought as she realized she didn't care.

- - -

The drive to his apartment was tense, but in a good way, the best way. Electricity crackled and sparked between them, making the air think and heavy.

Hot. Hard to breathe.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter and his knuckles turned white, the blood pooling around them making his fingers a chunky pink. She found herself examining those hands, strong and stead on the wheel, confident in their movements. Her thoughts wandered to how they felt against her body. Running along her curves and kneading her flesh in the most delicate of ways. Feeling eyes upon her, she turned her view to his face, having been caught in a rather inappropriate daydream.

Not that he would know that.

Still, she looked down quickly, then back at him through heavy lashes. Even though he knew she was continuing to watch him, he had to keep his eyes on the road, allowing her an unobstructed view of his profile. The tan skin of his forearms peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves. The tight, sinewy muscles of his upper arms visible underneath the thin cotton. The vein gently pulsating in his neck, the strong line of his jaw, the hopelessly sexy curve of his lips.

The copper glitter of his eyes.

As they reached a red light, he was able to turn his head slightly to meet her gaze, and she smiled shyly.

The car was rolling again and she turned her line of sight to the window, attempting to take in the sights of a new city. Desperately trying to pull her attention away from the tingling feeling that was currently vibrating throughout her body and settling between her thighs.

It didn't seem to work.

The world drifted past her in a blur as she tugged at her shirtsleeves. She couldn't focus on anything and she was afraid she was going to pass out. Rolling down her window, she shifted in her seat.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye and smirked.

- - -

It didn't take them very long to pull up in front of his building. Rory got out of the car slowly and on shaky legs, afraid she wouldn't be able to make it up the stairs to his place. But he was suddenly beside her, her bag in one hand, the other outstretched to take hers. The skin-on-skin contact, although minimal and seemingly non-sexual, sent a shiver through her whole body.

When asked if she was okay, she attributed it to the cold, late-October air.

Jess knew better, but didn't say anything.

"So, this is it," she stated, rather than asked, once they were inside.

Nodding, he led her to the left. "Yep."

"I like it," she decided as they began their ascension of the stairs.

He agreed, sending her a sidelong smile. "Me too."

After two flights and a short hallway, they were at his door. Reluctantly letting go of her hand, he fished out his keys and unlocked the door in on deft movement.

Upon entrance she was overwhelmed by the sight. Wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Every single inch overflowing with novels.

"Oh, wow," she exclaimed, completely in awe.

He set her bag down by the door and followed her gaze. "Oh. That."

"I love it," she gasped, moving closer, wanting to inspect each and every volume.

"Yeah?" He followed her as she moved closer to the books, almost against her own will.

She nodded approvingly. "Yeah."

Still not quite believing that the haven before her was real, she turned to face him, eyes wide with wonder. "How in the world did you…" she trailed off, not able to finish any sort of coherent thought.

Shrugging, he smirked, biting his lower lip. "I work for a publishing company," he offered as way of explanation.

"Have you read them all?" she questioned.

"I honestly don't know," he chuckled, amused by the fact that after all this time and in light of everything they were (or weren't), she was more fascinated by the books than she was by him. Despite the display at the station and the tension during the car ride, she forgot it all at the spectacle before her.

(It was the Rory he remembered.)

After flipping through a few choice volumes, she was finally able to tear herself away from the books. Turning her full attention to Jess's smirking form, she suddenly felt awkward, again not exactly knowing what to do or say.

Cocking her head to the side, she offered a sweet-sounding and drawn out, "So."

He took a few extra steps towards her and gingerly took both of her hands in his, pulling her flush against his body.

The blue flames begin to well up inside of her again as she felt the heat from his body so close to her. He leaned in slowly, just grazing her lips with his at first, teasing her, testing her. It was a game of touch and go for a few seconds before he relented, capturing her mouth.

The kiss was achingly slow.

His touch, achingly soft.

The next detail that broke through the haze was how soft his bed was. How they got there, she wasn't sure, but she felt like she could fall into it forever. Their clothes were off (she didn't remember that, either) and his lips were permanently attached to her skin. Moving lower, neck, breasts, lower, stomach, bellybutton, lower still until the blue flames were replaced by a white light and she couldn't breathe.

The light broke and cracked and faded but the flames still remained and then he was inside of her, enticing them to burn even hotter. Her lungs burned and breathing was becoming increasingly difficult to do.

Blue turned to white hot again, but he was right there with her, letting her cling to him, fingernails leaving marks on his skin.

The light fractured once more, leaving splinters in her brain that made her skin prickle and tingle. That deliriously lovely numb feeling took over as he collapsed on top of her, whispering hushed and unintelligible languages into her ear.

She'd never heard anything sound more beautiful.

- - -

They spent the rest of the evening nestled securely in the cocoon of his bedroom (her new favorite place in the entire world). It was small; his bed on one wall, another bookshelf on the other. But that closeness made it that much more intimate, that much more safe.

They played underneath the sheets, laughing, touching, kissing, talking. Talking about life, books, years; the years since their last tragic encounter, since their last good day.

Jess expounded on the details of his move to Philadelphia (he had to admit that he loved it), of writing his book (brainstorming had begun in California), even of other ideas he had yet to put into written words. She listened attentively to each syllable, turning them over and over again in her mind before tucking them away to be remembered forever. Letting herself become completely absorbed by pitch and intensity of his voice.

In an ironic twist of fate, it was Rory who was more reserved at first, more uncomfortable with opening up to him. He waited patiently, hanging onto her every word intently as the events slowly unfolded. She was less inclined to go into detail, but after his heartfelt admissions, she felt obligated to. And so it came to light: Logan, the boat, community service. School. Her mother…

He let out a low whistle when she was done. "Dean, huh?"

She cut him off, speaking rapidly. "Don't say it."

"Don't say what?"

"Just…whatever it is that you want to say. Please don't say it," she pleaded quietly.

He nodded, stroking her arm with a simple, "Okay."

"I've made a lot of bad decisions in the past few years, huh?" She paused only momentarily, not really waiting for a response. (What could he say?) "God, it's embarrassing to talk about. I hate having to tell you this. You probably think I'm a horrible person."

"Never." Shifting to pull her even closer to him, he placed an earnest kiss on her forehead. They lay together for a few more moments, her body slung lazily over his. He absentmindedly continued tracing short stories all along her arms in sloppy cursive while she simply breathed him in.

"You probably think I'm a fake and a phony and I can't even begin to imagine how disappointed you are that I let myself get sucked into all of this," she continued. "There; something you and my mother can finally agree on."

"I don't think that, and I highly doubt Lorelai does either," he reasoned.

"You didn't see her, Jess. You didn't see her face. That look…god, I went my whole life without seeing that look. It's just been the past few years. I've had to see that disappointment so many times."

He opened his mouth to respond when she went on.

"The clock's gone."

Her sudden outburst caught him off guard, and he didn't attempt to mask his surprise. "What?"

"The clock's gone and the furniture's gone and everything is a new color and I don't know how to work the coffee pot and…" she paused, taking a deep breath. Squeezing her hand reassuringly, he waited for her to go on. Sighing, she continued, her voice taking on a softer tone. A simple kind of sad, really. "It's like she tried to erase me from that house in every possible way."

"Ror-"

"She got a dog," she groaned miserably, snuggling into his shoulder. "She replaced me with a dog."

His hand moved from her arm to her hair, gently massaging her scalp with light touches. "That is not true. You gotta realize that she was lonely, too."

"I know. I just want things to go back."

"So does she."

He would have promised her that they would, but they both knew it would be false, empty. As much as he wanted to be able to, there's no way that he could assure her that point of 'normal' would be reached again. There's no way he could have assured her anything, really. It was beyond his reach to make it come true.

He would have, though. He almost did. In that moment of her laying next to him, ivory against his olive skin, auburn hair across his shoulder, cornflower eyes so full of desperation. He would have promised her the universe.

(And what's more is that he would have found a way to give it to her.)

- - -

The sun felt different here. Warmer. That's the first thought that floated into her head the next morning as the serpentine rays cast a gentle glow across her face. Squinting against the bright, she threw her arm across the queen mattress, not finding a body but only the warmth left behind. Groggily she sat up, sleepy eyes scanning the room. He wasn't in sight, but his t-shirt was and she reached for it, fingering the soft cotton. Slipping it on over her head, she then pulled her hair into a ponytail and padded slowly out of the bedroom.

The smell of bacon assaulted her as soon as she entered the hallway. Smiling contently, Rory leaned against the doorway, watching him move expertly around the kitchen. Making breakfast. Making _her_ breakfast. The concept was all too foreign to her. None of her previous lovers ever went to such trouble.

A full pot of coffee stood steaming on the counter. Scrambled eggs were sizzling on the skillet; waffles lay on a plate to the side. He was dicing strawberries. The sight made her fall even more in love with him.

She fleetingly wondered if he just had strawberries lying around, or if he snuck to the store this morning to get them. She wondered if his favorite color was still that deep, dark hunter green. She wondered when he got that tattoo on his arm, what it meant. She wondered how he learned to make a quarter disappear with the flick of his wrist, or how old he was when he heard his first Clash song (she was seven).

She wanted to ask him all these things, all these crazy things, while he stood there in the pale morning light. She wanted to know if he loved her, if he always would, if he'd always be that big bad beautiful boy she fell for so many years ago. She knew he'd answer her, but she didn't pose these questions because she didn't need to.

He'd do anything for her, he'd be anything for her. Not that she'd ask him to, but there's a certain sense of comfort in that knowing.

Pushing off of the doorframe, she moved around the counter to the coffee and poured herself a cup. He noticed the slight movement out of the corner of his eye but didn't take his gaze off of his task. Rory sat at a barstool, resting her elbows on the tile and taking a cautious sip of the dark liquid, careful not to burn her tongue.

"Morning," she grinned.

"This'll be done in a minute," he replied distractedly.

"_This_ is a lot of food," she breathed.

"Well, I wasn't sure what you'd want, and I didn't want to wake you up, so I just made everything I could think of." He looked up at her, smiling now, shrugging his shoulders.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, she set her coffee down. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble."

"Sure I did," he decided absently, setting the knife down. Leaning over the counter, he smirked at her dazed expression. "Morning," he whispered, greeting her with a soft kiss.

_I want to wake up to this forever and ever_, she thought, deciding not to say it out loud. Not yet, at least.

Kissing her again, he stepped back abruptly, a light bulb going off behind his eyes.

"Before I forget…" he began, retrieving something from behind him, out of her line of sight. "Here. I got you a present."

"A present?" She took it carefully between her hands, turning it over slowly in detailed examination. "Mr. Mariano, you spoil me."

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. "Just open it."

The gift was rectangle and thin, light in her hands. Simple red paper concealed its contents, wrapped precisely, square corners.

"Did you write another book already?" she teased.

Shaking his head, he sent her a playful glare. "Not yet."

Curiosity overwhelming her, she carefully tore the paper at the edges, almost regretful that she had to ruin the small work of art.

"Oh my god," she gasped.

It was a book all right.

"I thought that would come in handy in these next few weeks."

"You have got to be kidding me."

A beautiful smirk adorned his face as he kept his attention on the sizzling breakfast before him, not looking at her, not answering her.

"Are you mocking me?"

He shook his head, still smirking, as she opened the cover, peering inside. Notes of his small precise handwriting decorated every page she flipped through. "You've read this."

"I may have skimmed."

"Oh my god."

He pointed the spatula at her, shocked at her disbelief. "Hey, there's some good stuff in there."

"I cannot picture you sitting down to read _Who Moved My Cheese?_."

He took on a Southern accent and turned to her with a cocky grin, "I'll have you know I've done a lot of self-actualizin' these last few months."

"You really read it?" she asked quietly, skeptically, silently hoping. (Why she was hoping, she didn't know.)

He visibly deflated, shoulders sagging in defeat. Cocking his left eyebrow upwards and scratching the back of his head, he nodded slowly. "You're never gonna let me live it down, are you?"

Smiling, Rory looked back to the book. That (maybe not-so) silly book. The fact that he shared this with her, the fact that Jess Mariano admitted to not just reading, but _actively _reading a sort-of self-help book, was a fact that she was going to take seriously.

"How old were you when you heard your first Clash song?" she asked suddenly.

Eyeing her curiously, Jess opened his mouth to question her outburst. After a moments contemplation, however, he decided against it and instead answered, "Nine or ten, maybe."

"Oh," she smiled. "Oh."

- - -

"Is it in there?" she grinned hopefully.

"No."

"How 'bout there?" she tried again. "Is it there?"

"Nope."

Gesturing wildly, she exclaimed, "What about-"

He cut her off, laughing quietly. "That's a _Starbucks_, Rory."

"Is that a 'no'?" Her face fell as she turned her gaze away from the window, searching his face for an ounce of seriousness.

"I thought we were going out to dinner," he smiled warmly, gently squeezing her hand. She scooted closer to him across the big bucket seat of his car, resting her head on his shoulder.

"We are. But I still want to see your book – you _amazing_ book, by the way – in an actual book_store_," she pouted.

"How about this," he began, slinging his arm around her shoulder. "We go to dinner, then, afterwards, _maybe_ I'll show you somewhere that _may_ or may not have the book."

"_Your_ book," she corrected.

He nodded reluctantly, "_My_ book."

"Isn't that fun to say?" she beamed in excitement, kissing his cheek.

He didn't get a chance to reply as she moved from his cheek to his neck, leaving purposefully wet kisses all along his jaw line. He let out a guttural groan in frustration and tried to turn his head to kiss her back while keeping his eyes trained on the road. Failing miserably, he gave up, letting Rory continue her assault on his neck.

"We could always skip dinner," he suggested. "I mean, I don't need to eat. Do you? Honestly." His voice continually got higher as she nipped at his earlobe, letting her hands wander to his thighs.

She ignored him for just a few more seconds before pulling herself away and shifting back to her side of the car, just out of his reach. Laughing softly, she tilted her head in a contemplative manner. "Just because we have amazing sex doesn't mean we can make a relationship work."

Startled by the situation's sudden change in tone, it took Jess a second to respond. "You're right," he realized.

"What I mean is, I'd like to try," she clarified, adding, "If you want to." Her hands folded and unfolded in her lap nervously. She studied them, not able to make any sort of eye contact.

"There is that whole distance thing," he trailed off, not sure of what to say. Not sure if this was really feasible. (He wanted it to be.)

Looking up, she angled her body to face him, mentally compiling her list of reasons why this could work. Why it _had to_ work. "It's only three hours."

"Three hours, fifteen minutes," he corrected.

"I know how to work a phone," she said confidently. Sensing his hesitation, she went on, "We can do this, Jess."

"School should be your top priority right now," he reasoned.

"I can do both," she explained. "I can, I can handle it."

"Rory."

Her forehead furrowed together in confusion. "Do you not want this?"

"What? Of course I do."

"Then why are you fighting it?" she practically shrieked.

He pulled the car into the parking lot of the restaurant and killed the engine. Taking off his seatbelt and turning to face her, he took a deep, frustrated breath.

"Rory, listen to me. I know that this can work, okay?" Her fears began to dissipate as he continued. "I can do weekends, I can…I can swing more work in Hartford. _Anything_. I just want to make sure that you're…" he stopped, not sure of the right words to use.

"I can do this," she desperately tried to convince him. "I'm ready. I can handle school. I can handle school, and my mom, and…I need this." She was thisclose to saying _I need you_, but she refrained out of fear that they already resembled the quintessential definition of doomed lovers. No need to contribute to it.

"Okay," he nodded slowly, silently considering her words. "If you're sure, then okay."

"Okay," she repeated.

Relieved, he sat back and exhaled deeply. Noticing the tension leave his features, she slid a little closer to him. "You had me worried there for a second," she admitted.

"I had me worried, too." His head fell to the right, lips turning up in a small smile. "Hey, girlfriend."

She smiled back, kissing him quickly before offering, "Hey, boyfriend."

"Let's eat," he suggested, sitting up straighter.

"Yeah," she smiled, already planning Thanksgiving and Christmas. If she could get signed up for the winter semester, she'd start school in January. If she was too late, the spring term began in March. She could stay with him for a while, maybe. And she could find an internship in Philadelphia for the summer.

She could do this.

(According to him, she could do anything.)

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**_notes:_** There you go! Sorry it took so long. Thanks for being patient with me, and for taking the time to read! If you have the time, please drop me a review; suggestions and storyline ideas are always welcome. I don't have the rest of this planned out too specifically yet, so I'd gladly welcome some fresh perspective. Thanks again, guys!


	8. stagehand lovers

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

**_notes: _**Lets get this rolling again, shall we?

**_chapter.eight: _**stagehand lovers

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"Give me a pen," she beamed, looking up at him through squinted eyes caused by an uncontrollable smile.

Rolling his eyes, he repeated the only two words he'd said in the past twenty minutes. "Absolutely not."

They had just finished dinner at a gorgeously antiquated little restaurant where he had told her stories – fact or fictitious, she didn't care – of the beatniks who use to hang out there, after which they took a walk down the same streets Grace Kelly had so many years before. It was then that he made the mistake of pointing out a bookstore belonging to a friend of his and she took the opportunity to revisit her mission to locate The Subsect. And locate it she had.

"Come on, Jess. Please?" She tugged at his shirtsleeve impatiently, causing the woman next to them to put down the paperback copy of He's Just Not That Into You she was examining and roll her eyes distastefully as she moved to the 'Romance Novel' section of the small bookstore. Jess noticed her stalk off and smirked, but Rory remained focused on him, now fumbling through his jacket, desperately in search of a pen.

"Whoa," he mumbled when her right hand entered his left jean pocket. Smiling innocently up at him, she reassured him that she was just looking for a writing utensil of some sort.

He leaned down close to her face, and, for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her – an attempt to make her forget about her mission, no doubt. (Not that she'd mind a kiss, of course.) His eyes trained on hers before darting to her lips just for a moment. Her tongue flicked out to moisten them subconsciously before he dipped closer. But she needed to find a…a…a _whatwasitagain_?

"I don't have a pen, Rory," he whispered, barely an inch away from her face.

Pen. Of course.

"You're a writer," she countered just as softly, her heart rate quickening with every shaky breath she took. "Writers…writers always have pens with them, don't they?"

He shook his head slowly, an amused smile on his face. "Nope."

"Oh," she sighed, at a loss for words. She saw his gaze wander down to her mouth again and she couldn't help but smile a little bit. Pulling her closer, he caught her lips just as the corners turned up, gracefully caressing her tongue with his own.

Suddenly, she couldn't even remember why she wanted the pen in the first place.

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The sight that presented itself before Lorelai was one that she could not have imagined, nor believed, had she not seen it with her own eyes.

Lucas Danes, love of her life but all around surly man, was crouched low in the hallway closet, delicately moving a 'Bop-It' aside and setting it down soundlessly. Next, an old set of Dumbbells emerged (When had she bought _those_?), the weight of them catching him off guard, causing him to let them slip from his fingers only to clamor to the floor. A string of hushed curses followed as he rolled them out of his way as quietly as he could.

"What are you doing?" she asked incredulously, causing her fiancée to jump suddenly, a stray box of board games getting caught in the movement and toppling to the floor.

"Don't scare me like that."

"Luke?" She settled her hands on her hips, an amused expression overtaking her features.

"I'm getting my toolbox."

She gestured at his crouching form, "I repeat, what are you doing?"

"Being quiet."

A short laugh escaped her. The stern glare she received in return only made it stronger. "Why?" she questioned, amused by his seriousness.

"Well, I mean, Rory doesn't know that I've been sleeping over here and stuff – well, I'm sure she does, but she hasn't seen it, and she's not used to me being here, and I don't want to make her uncomfortable, so…" he trailed off with a sweeping hand gesture, feeling that the reasoning behind his actions were justified as well as obvious.

"So you climbed in through my bedroom window?" she nodded, sober and unsmiling, head tilted upwards contemplatively.

"I don't want her to think that I just come and go as I please," Luke explained.

"But you do," Lorelai stressed, enunciating each word slowly. "We're getting married; she's going to notice when you're living here full time, you know."

"Of course I know."

"You've got bulk, Luke. Bulk is hard to hide, especially considering that I strategically store shoes in every possible crawl space in this house. I'm afraid there's nowhere left to hide," she shrugged.

"But she just got back, and I want to give you two space. You know, to talk…" he paused, searching, "about…womanly things that women talk about."

"Have you ever even met a woman, Lucas?"

He ignored her playful jab and stood up, gathering his things. "I'm gonna go."

"You should stay."

"But, I-" He motioned to Rory's room, not that she was in there, he knew, but he figured Lorelai would get the gist behind his reluctance.

"She's not here."

Luke's eyes went from Lorelai to the kitchen to Lorelai again, his face scrunched up in a pinched look of confusion. "Rory's not here?" he repeated.

She crossed her arms across her chest in an almost defensive stance. Perhaps it was a pensive one. "Nope."

"You two didn't have another fight?" he asked cautiously. Even the densest of men would be able to tell that this was still a very sore subject in her opinion. He desperately searched her face for any sort of tell – anything that would sate his fears. _Not a fight, not a fight_.

"No," she said, and he looked visibly relieved, emitting a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Lorelai's expression never wavered, though. In fact, her eyes became more distant as she continued. "She's…she went to Philadelphia. To spend some time with Jess."

"Oh. _Oh_," he realized, the conversation he and Lorelai had just days before coming back to him. _She slept with Jess_. Not necessarily something he wanted to know, but… "Wow. Well, that's good, I guess. Right?"

"I don't think so."

His bit his tongue literally and figuratively, offering a neutral, "Oh." Best to keep his opinion out of this one.

"She shouldn't be diving into another relationship, especially this one," Lorelai continued, shaking her head in disappointment.

"I know how you feel about Jess-"

"_This_ relationship already has baggage, Luke, and she doesn't need that. I'd feel the same if it was Jess or not," she countered.

"But the fact that it's Jess makes it worse." He was right. He knew he was, and it broke his heart, for himself and for Rory.

"Well, of course it does," she admitted matter-of-factly. She must have realized how cold that sounded, though, because her expression shifted from one of controlled anger to a pensive frown. A flickering of sadness behind her eyes. Emotions of every degree coursing through. All except for one.

She was never good at indifference, especially when it came to her daughter. Or Jess, for that matter.

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A werewolf moon encroached upon his tiny box of a bedroom, reflecting of off the pale walls and lighting the space as if it were midday on a Thursday afternoon. The bright burned her eyelids and she woke slowly, unwillingly, but recent living arrangements and subconscious guilt for too many things had turned her into a light sleeper. With labored effort, she turned towards the window, the man in the moon peering back mockingly. Jess slept soundly beside her and she groaned enviously. Rory shifted softly, disentangling herself from his strong embrace, and pulled on a discarded t-shirt (his, hers?) lying at her feet.

She left the moon behind with the steady rhythm of Jess' breathing and the moment the bedroom door closed behind her she missed the even regularity. The rest of the apartment was quiet, save for the humming of the refrigerator. That pregnant moon reappeared in the living room, though, glaring through the window and casting his abundant glow across the breadth of the carpet. Pale carpet, tan or off-white, indescribably soft; downy, almost. Carefully, she settled herself down onto the feathery whiteness, angling her body directly in front of one of the trio of bookcases. Fingers traced the spines with a gentle caress hovering momentarily on a specific volume for a moment's time every few seconds. Memories flooded back to her all at once, days spent with Anna Karenina and Madam Bovary. How long had it been since she'd picked up one of her favorite books, even just to re-read a particular passage or two? Months, maybe even close to a year. The very thought brought a sharp sting of tears to her eyes.

What had been her purpose this last year and a half? She hadn't even spent her time off from Yale doing anything that she liked, let alone loved. No books, no movies, no junk food or retro albums. Just Logan; and before that, Dean, the traumatic spectacle that it was. 'No strings' and stealing boats. Community service and the DAR. What had been her rationale behind it all?

The moon was chased away by a cloud then, the contemptuous bastard. Her initial appreciation gave way to irrational apprehension, though, as her world plummeted into total darkness. A streak of panic rose up in her chest, her childhood fear of the dark revisiting her in a momentary wave.

But the cloud sailed on and the angry glare of the moon returned, submerging the small room into a sea of blue. And there he was. Standing in the hallway, leaning against the door jam with a sleepy smile on his face.

"You're naked," she giggled.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Jess questioned, skeptically, feeling just smug enough to know the answer. He pushed himself up off the wall and moved around the coffee table, her eyes following every subtle movement of his exposed body.

"No. It's just that…you just walk around naked?"

"It is my apartment. I have the right to be naked whenever I want to."

She stumbled, still caught off-guard by his passive reaction. She wasn't used to naked people. Not ones who just walk around their house uncaring.

"I've never just…walked around naked before," she stated, suddenly at a loss for words. "I've never really even thought about it."

As she spoke, he sat down behind her, pulling her back between his outstretched legs and covering them with a brown knit blanket from the couch, creating an intimate cocoon of warmth. "It's liberating," he whispered, dangerously close to her ear. So close that she could feel his lips curve up into a smirk, obvious to her discomfort. So close that she could feel his eyelashes fall across the curve of her neck as he blinked.

"You have Dracula next to Elementary Pali," she told him, gesturing towards the bookshelf before her. "The Boy Allies at the Somme is tucked in between The Scarab Murder Case and The Idiot. Fear and Trembling is on top of Shot Through the Heart."

With a kiss to her left temple, her replied with a perplexed-sounding "So?"

"So you don't have a system."

"I don't need a system."

"You do too need a system," she argued lamely, though matter-of-factly. The retort almost sounded like a full-fledged argument, she was so indignant about it.

"I like my system," Jess decided thoughtfully.

"But you just said it's _not_ a system."

"Exactly."

"You're confusing."

"Am I?"

She could feel her eyelids growing heavier, the rhythmic pressure of his rising chest against her back lulling her into a much-needed sleep. She fought it off though, wanting to keep the conversation going, wanting to spend just a few more coveted moments with him, cursing the days for being too short. Triumphantly, she lifted up a book to their shared eye level, the contemptuous moon just bright enough to see the cover.

"Have you read this one?"

"I hated it," he groaned, rolling his head back as if the experience of reading it put him in actual, physical pain.

She turned over his copy of A Million Little Pieces in her hands to read the back cover, not quite ready to trust an Ayn Rand disbeliever on literature. "I've heard of it, but I haven't read it."

"I would've thought you'd get it right away," he reflected. And really, she would have. Had things not been so screwed up, she would have been out to purchase it right away, just to see what all the hype was about; just to be able to discuss its merits (or lack thereof) with a classmate. But there were no classmates because she wasn't in school and there were no books because she had English teas to prepare for instead.

"It's better that you didn't read it," he continued, anxious by her silence. He could tell that she was thinking by the way her shoulders tensed; thinking too hard and too critically. She eased at the sound of his voice, though, and he saw her eyes brighten out of the corner of his.

"Did you see him on Oprah?" she grinned. "I saw him on Oprah."

He countered her smile with an eye roll and a nudge of the shoulder. "Right, 'cause I'm known for my love of Oprah."

Laughing softly, she put the book back on the shelf she got it from before wondering why she bothered to do so. His 'system' would allow it to be placed anywhere while being in its place. She wished she could be that versatile.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asked after a few moments, her head lulling back into the cushion of his chest.

"I couldn't sleep and the moon was mocking me and the books are overflowing" was her slurred reply. Her speech became such as she grew tired, he had noticed, as did her sentences become nonsensical. He liked that he knew that about her.

He had missed knowing such things about her.

"I don't want to go tomorrow," she yawned after a few moments, barely above a whisper.

He noticed how she left out the word 'home.'

"Then don't."

She shook her head softly, her hair sweeping back and forth against his bare chest. "You make it sound so easy."

"It is." He kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms around her body, linking them in the front, pulling her even closer still. "Stay. I want you to stay."

"And why is that?" she countered, her voice heavy with sleep.

"I'm afraid that you won't come back," he confided, leaving an affectionate kiss on the curve of her neck.

"I thought that about you once," she responded, turning in his arms to face him. Jess kissed her nose, then her mouth, gently coaxing her into his arms.

The whispered word "Stay" fell against her lips, spoken so delicately that her only reply could be to nod in agreement. _Stay stay stay_ he repeated in between kisses, over and over, needing to hear her say that she would.

_Only say no if you really don't want to be with me._

She said yes.

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**_notes:_** Originally, this was twice as long, and I am sorry for the length of this chapter. I was having such a hard time incorporating everything that I had written; I just finally had to break it up in order to get something out to you guys. I sincerely apologize for the wait – I had no intention of letting this fic fall into limbo, but it seems I failed miserably. However, since I cut so much from the original version of this installment, the next chapter should write itself. I do promise that I'm picking this one back up again, and that updates should be more frequent. Thank you so much for reading, even after all this time. :) I'd love a review, if you could find it in your hearts to share with me. ;)


	9. smiling faces look on and applaud

**_title:_** Watercolors of the Past

**_disclaimer:_** Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be _drastically_ different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, _of course_.

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**_notes: _**Thanks for always being so patient with me when it comes to this story. The reviews and emails that I continually get in between updates really mean the world to me. The always-subtle remarks help, too. ;) I hope the result of your wait doesn't disappoint anyone.

**_quick refresher: _**Now that Rory is back, Lorelai and Luke are moving forward with the wedding. Remember, this takes place after 6.08, meaning that Rory's never seen Truncheon. Plus, since I began writing this before 6.18, so Eddie and Todd are my Matthew and Chris. ;)

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**_chapter.eight: _**smiling faces look on and applaud****

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Though uttered in passion, Rory had held true to her promise to stay; they didn't discuss how long. The veil would lift, they both knew that, and she'd have to return to rebuild what had become of her life. However appealing the thought may be, she couldn't hide with Jess forever. But for now she was content just living in the moment with him, all thoughts of train stations and partings dismissed, so easily rekindling what each had felt so many years ago.

Monday rolled around sooner than expected, as is its nature, and Rory was surprised to wake alone, the hollow tapping of water droplets on tile alerting her that Jess was in the shower. He emerged minutes later to find that she had rolled over to his side of the bed, face buried deep into his pillow. To her confusion, he began getting dressed, cotton knit covering up her favorite parts of him. This day brought with it the new workweek, and Jess quietly (quietly because she was not quite yet awake) explained that he had to go to work, at least for a few hours.

She felt a pang of remorse as reality dawned at his words, realizing that for six months she'd had no real responsibilities of the sort.

He continued in an apologetic tone, explaining that he'd return as soon as he could get away, that she was more than welcome to rifle through his things like he knew she'd been secretly dying to do. That he had hoards upon hoards of books, and even cable TV (shock!), and that she should be too bored.

A smile captured her eyes then, the surest of signs that an idea was forming behind their hauntingly blue depths.

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The sky was dark and the wind blew fiercely in Stars Hollow. Power was suspected to go out within the hour, at least according to Taylor's warnings. Kirk was asking about provisions and food storage. Luke argued that it was nothing more than a passing storm, although the statement was laced with a few mild obscenities that Taylor most definitely did _not_ approve of. Lorelai and Sookie, who were seated by the eastern-facing window, bridal magazines spread before them, were oblivious to the commotion before them.

"Oh my god!" Lorelai's impromptu exclamation cut through the uproarious arguing, unintentionally skewing the focus towards herself. "When we get married, the diner will be half mine!"

Sookie waved her arms in excitement. "That's right!"

She pointed a triumphant finger in Luke's direction. "You'll have to put up those little naked cupid babies at Valentine's Day."

"We can paint!" Sookie added.

"I want pink."

Luke snorted in response. "Don't you think that would clash with the flannel?"

"Then the flannel will have to go too!" Lorelai amended while checking her watch and then picking up her cell phone. "And the hat!"

"Hey, now -" he began as she raised the phone to her ear. "What are you doing?"

"Checking my messages."

"I'm standing right here."

She reached forward and patted his hand. "Yes, but you can't be the center of my attention all the time."

Luke's mouth hung open for a second at the sheer audacity of her statement. "I meant the 'No Cell Phone' rule."

Nodding in contemplation, she decided, "Yeah, that'll have to go too."

A moment's breath passed before Lorelai snapped her cell phone closed. Sookie grasped her best friend's arm in anticipation. "Anything?"

"Nope," Lorelai sighed before flipping open the Razr again. "Let me check the machine at home."

"Who's supposed to call you?"

"My other boyfriend. We're running off together," Lorelai replied matter-of-factly.

Rolling his eyes, Luke turned towards Sookie. Smiling, she answered in a very pragmatic tone, matching that of Lorelai's. "Al."

Luke's face twisted in confusion. "_Al's Pancake World _Al?"

Smiling, Lorelai nodded. "I want him to cater the wedding."

"Of course," he said.

"He's a contractor, friend of Tom's," Sookie interjected. "He was supposed to check out the roof of the barn today, make sure it'll hold up during the _catastrophic storm _tonight," she explained, borrowing Taylor's much-perfected forewarning tone.

"Don't you mock, young lady," Taylor piped up from an adjacent table. Luke turned on him then, reigniting their feud from before. Sookie looked on in fascination until a squeak from Lorelai diverted her attention.

"Oh," she jumped.

Sookie swung her body towards her friend, panic setting in. "Did he say no? Is the roof worthless? Are Desdemona and Cletus going to be okay tonight?"

"No. I mean, no he didn't call. Rory did." Lorelai shook her head in disbelief. "She's staying in Philly for a few more days. Says things are really good."

A stunned silence overtook the two then, and Sookie grappled for something to say to make her friend feel better. "Well, she called, though," she finally offered. "That's good."

"Yeah, good," Lorelai agreed disinterestedly, eyes fixed on Taylor and Luke's continued arguing.

"Okay. Talk."

"What?"

"Talk," Sookie pressed, eyeing her friend knowingly.

Lorelai gnawed her bottom lip before continuing - "Does she not want to come home?"

"Sweetie, that's crazy."

"No, what's crazy is that we went six months without speaking. After that, anything's possible."

They sat for a moment, wordless and restless. Rory's deviance and Lorelai's determination created a rift that caught everyone off guard, including the girls themselves. Whether too stubborn or too ashamed (or both, perhaps), all contact between them ceased, and Sookie watched her very best friend become more miserable as the summer faded into fall. Rory's abrupt return was almost as equally shocking, but this most recent development was off the charts.

"You said they just…got back together?" she questioned, even though they'd hashed out the details over margaritas just a few days before. The day Rory left; the day the initial panic had set in for her mother.

Lorelai shrugged her shoulders, obviously not too sure of all the facts herself. "Apparently."

"Wow," was all she said. What else _could_ she say? "Rory and Jess, take two."

"It's weird."

"Really weird. It's bugging you," she added thoughtfully, noticing the brunette's change in demeanor.

"Well, yeah. I don't think it's a good idea, but I don't know how much I can say to her about it," she confided. "I don't know where we stand , I don't know where they stand…"

"She _is _staying for a few more days," Sookie reiterated, perhaps realizing that they _did_ know where the two stood.

"It's so sudden. Isn't it sudden?"

Sookie nodded, deciding that it would probably be most beneficial to just agree at this point, for the sake of Lorelai's sanity and her own. "Very sudden."

"And she's back for what - a _week _before she takes off again? She just broke up with Logan, she's had no time to get over that," she explained, adding, "Maybe there wasn't that much to get over, I don't know." Shaking her head, she willed the thought that she didn't know, that she didn't know _anything_ about her daughter or what she was thinking of feeling as of these last few months, out of her head. Her anxiety subsided momentarily, and she continued, "Still, she just got home. We've barely talked. She hasn't fixed things at Yale. She hasn't gotten her things from my parents place, she hasn't even talked to them. I don't even know if she's finished her community service and - oh god, can you leave the state when you're on probation?"

"I'm sure you can." Sookie assured her, albeit not convincingly.

"God, Rory's on probation. That one still sneaks up on me."

Sookie reached an hand across the table, rubbing Lorelai's arm supportively.

"Do you see why I think she should fix herself before jumping headfirst into another relationship? I mean, you do see that, right? It's not just me?"

"It's not," she echoed.

"And this is a relationship that already has issues and history and baggage from both participants and…bad mojo."

"Bad mojo?"

"Bad mojo, Sook."

They sat for a moment, Lorelai too upset to drink her coffee, Sookie too perplexed to notice.

"So, wait, Jess's mojo is bad, or-"

"No, just the relationship," she explained. "Bad mojo, bad vibes-"

"Gotcha!" the red-head nodded emphatically. "Bad mojo, very bad."

"I'm concerned, Sookie." Her voice was low. Considering. A lot of thought had been put into the statement, that much was obvious. She wasn't merely venting a frustration or dislike for the dark-haired boy - she was genuinely concerned for her daughter.

Sookie listened on, wide-eyed attentive, as any best friend would, as rain began to assault the small town.

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"She's cute, classy. Why in the hell is she with you?"

Jess continued rearranged the book display, trading out old non-sellers for newer, more promising work – a task he _should have_ completed before tonight's reading began an hour ago. Eddie's eyes trained on Rory across the crowded floor of Truncheon as she eagerly read through the latest 'zine.

"Eddie…"

"Don't worry, dude." He slapped Jess on the shoulder reassuringly. "I approve."

Jess's eyes rolled back almost of the own accord, an obviously common reflex to Eddie's musings. "Oh, thank god," he replied, voice laden with sarcasm.

"Really, man. She's _awesome_." Eddie punctuated the last word with a waggle of his eyebrows, causing Jess to stop and pay him his full attention.

"Stop there."

"What?"

"I know where you're going with this," he sighed knowingly.

"I wasn't going anywhere." Eddie paused innocently before shifting his gaze back to the youngest Gilmore. Grinning, he continued. "But I have to point out, that girl right there? Ass that won't quit. A little light on top, but-"

Jess cut him short by delivering a swift punch to his shoulder.

"Ow. Okay. I'll be good. But remember," he warned, "You owe me details."

Smirking, Jess shook his head and started towards Rory. "Like that's ever gonna happen."

"Hey! We had an agreement," Eddie called after him, arms held up and mouth agape. "What the _eff_, man?"

Jess continued past the refreshment table and a group from a local paper discussing the impact of the growing popularity of online publication - Todd was in the middle; "Dudes, it's gonna fuck us up," – and onto the north side of the store, to the couch near the window where his girlfriend sat.

"Hey." He took a seat next to her, his thigh gently brushing hers. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't be," she smiled. "I like to watch you work. It almost makes you _seem_ like an adult."

"Ha-ha."

"This is all so amazing, Jess," she breathed, turning in awe to the packed room before them.

"Please," was the gruff reply, and she could tell by his sarcastic tone that he was uncomfortable. Her grin widened, and she pressed forward to reassure him.

"This place is packed. That guy doing the reading is hilarious. Everyone is laughing and having a good time."

"That's all alcohol-induced, Rory. The first thing we learned when we started doing this? Serve beer."

"You can't stand being praised, can you?"

"I'm not a fan of it, no."

Relenting, she decided to change the subject. "How often do you do this whole open house thing?"

"A few times a week, depending. It can be more subdued, like when the _serious_ artists are displaying their _serious_ work."

"Is it always this busy, though?"

He shrugged, easing back into the sofa. "You get a couple regulars, and they bring a few friends, and the place is immediately packed because it's so small. It's not like it's a big deal."

She leaned back with him, resting her head comfortably against his shoulder. "This is the coolest place in Philly, isn't it?"

"Hardly."

"The coolest place on Locust Street, then."

"Well, that's not saying much." Jess was skeptical, unable to fathom why this woman, the most astonishing woman he'd ever known, could even be remotely impressed by these people, let alone by him. Todd was wearing a shirt with a picture of a keg on it, reading 'If you tap it, they will come,' for god's sake.

Rory didn't seem to notice, though. She wasn't focused on the décor or the mismatched furniture of the cigarette burns on the fraying carpet. She saw the people, with their smiling faces and relaxed attitudes. A blasé air was palpable in the room that put everyone at ease. "I think it's wonderful," she said, eyes wistful and earnest. "And it's yours, and that makes it even more wonderful."

"It's hardly mine," he argued lamely, spouting half-truths that he himself only sometimes believed. "I share it with two other guys, remember? Plus our publisher is always on our asses, and it's really just more of a pain than it's worth."

She grinned as the evasive nature of his teenage years came back. Somehow it didn't frustrate her like it used to. She understood more about him now. "You love it," she decided.

"Well I have to say, you add a decorative flair to the room."

"I am an official member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. I can add a decorative flair to anything."

Dipping his head lower, he whispered to her in what she now knew to be his most secretive voice, husky and heavy and choked and always a little insecure. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Me too," she breathed back, looking him in the eye. "It's a good thing you convinced me to stay."

"It didn't take too much to get you to agree, if I remember correctly." She could see the previous night's activities reflected in his dilating pupils as his mind's eye recalled them. Looking away, Rory tried to suppress an embarrassed flush as it crept across her cheeks.

"Let me go make sure the guys have things _partially_ under control, then we can take off," he offered, wanting nothing more than to have her alone, away from the noise and distraction of Truncheon. Alone so that he could perfect focusing all of his attentions solely on her.

"Actually, I want to stay. Please? Just for a little while longer." She fisted her hands in his shirt, knuckles grazing against coarse hair on his abdomen, encircling his bellybutton and skimming lower. Actions that clearly betrayed her expressed desire to stay. Acknowledging his quizzical look, she explained, "Eddie's going to do an interpretive dance to 'Circle of Life' and I really don't want to miss it."

"Huh," he nodded, more focused on her whisper-soft touch than anything concerning Eddie. "Okay."

She beamed at him, face aglow in excitement, and in that singular moment he realized that she had no idea that she was driving him positively crazy with her touch. That knowledge made it even worse.

"Are you sure you're not bored?" he attempted to hint, desperate to get her home and into his unmade bed.

"Are you kidding me? Your friend-"

"Coworker," he corrected tersely.

"-is about to shake his tail feather _and _bust a move to a song from the Lion King. All at once."

"As long as you're having a good time…" he began sarcastically.

"The best."

Her hands continued their small, concentric circles against his skin even as the irksome opening bars of the dissonant classic began playing on radio in the far corner of the room an hour later.

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Lorelai trudged into the foyer, careful to kick her shoes off by the door to avoid trekking mud in the house along with her. Taylor's apocalyptic storm predictions were proving to be more accurate than anyone expected, much to the town's dismay. Shrugging off her purse and jacket, she let the items fall on the wooden floor without any regard for them.

Her lip gloss rolled underneath the coat rack by the door. She didn't bother to pick it up.

A sudden wave of frustration irked her as she exhaled all of her energy along with a shaky breath. Rounding the corner, a red light blinked accusingly in the darkness. Lorelai pressed down the offending button, effectively dimming it, and sat down on the couch without turning on any lights. As she leaned back, Rory's voice filled the vacant room.

"Hi. It's me. I guess I missed you. Well, I obviously missed you, since I'm talking to the machine and not…to you. You're probably out with Luke, or Sookie, although I don't know that she goes out much now that she has two kids. Not that she shouldn't. She wouldn't be abandoning them or anything. I mean, you went out and I never felt abandoned." A pause. A nervous sigh. Then, "Anyway, I just called to let you know that…that it looks like I'll be staying over here for a few more days. I'm not sure how long yet, but…things are good. Really, really good. So, I guess I'll talk to you later. Hopefully. Or I'll see you. When I get back. Bye."

Her head lulled towards the machine, throwing it a disapproving frown. The rain came down heavy on the roof, the sharp ring of water droplets on tin sounding throughout the house. Everything felt empty then. Vast and spacious and positively empty.

The clouds opened even wider and threw their perils down to pool and overflow in a frustration mirroring that of Lorelai's.

To cry would be redundant, she thought bitterly.

Instead she pushed the 'play' button on the answering machine again, and six more times after that, before deleting the message altogether. She finally came to the conclusion that her daughter sounded genuinely happy, and it scared her more than she'd have liked to admit.

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He gasped for breath as she grasped for him. This phantom feeling unlike everything she'd ever felt before was slowly becoming all consuming. But even as they reached their simultaneous release, it didn't dissipate. Breathe, breathe, motion, color, dizzy, lips, teeth, sleep.

The blessed, wonderful delirium that should have lasted only a minute, less than a minute, spread and settled, overpowering the delightful buzzing of her body that she always felt after sex. The crushing weight in her chest remained. The same weight she associated with lust, that uncontrollable need.

It was something strangely akin to love, but not quite. It was stronger, so much stronger. Heavier. Harder to breathe.

Alone, the lovers wore only sunlight; the soft dawn gently casting a glow on the small room and it's two inhabitants. One of those mornings where she absolutely could not, under any circumstance, fire or Armageddon, will herself to shake the vestiges of sleep from her heavy eyes. Instead, she pulled closer to the warm body next to her, equating this feeling as the closest to heaven she could ever imagine getting.

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**_Notes: _**Success! Chapter 9 is currently in progress. Wish me luck.


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